


Monthly Klance - February 2019

by rae_aaah



Series: Monthly Klance [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Klance AU Month 2019, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-10-31 16:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 39,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17853557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rae_aaah/pseuds/rae_aaah
Summary: Complied Klance AU's from my IG





	1. A Word from the Author

**Author's Note:**

> 30 days of Klance

 

Here it is in it's entirety folks, without breaks or skips or funny formatting.

I do hope that you enjoy these entries!

Here is my [writing IG](http://www.instagram.com/rae.aaah) if you want to keep up with me in real time (link will open in IG app if on mobile).

Thanks for your interest and on with the show!


	2. Coffee Shop

Lance smells the coffee before his brain even registers that his feet have taken him inside. He blinks blearily and looks around. The interior is nice, classy. Dark cherry half-wood panels line the wall with a subtle navy damask wallpaper and the lights aren’t too bright, nor is it presumptuously hipster dim either.

There's some sort of alternative rock playing over the speakers and Lance thinks  _ good taste _ before his eyes fall onto the barista behind the counter. Lance swallows around the sudden dryness. The guy's cute in that punk scene, bad-boy sort of way. Tasty indeed.

The rolled up sleeves of his red plaid button up does wonders for his forearms and Lance flushes as he's caught staring.

He approaches the counter, squinting at the menu. His eyebrows furrow the longer he keeps looking, and he squints harder. Did he forget to put in his contacts this morning?

"Hey," he says, slowly, still perusing the menu, but all of the same thing. "Do you guys have lattes or something? This is my third all-nighter and I think I'm delirious."

The guy behind the counter smirks. "Nope," is all he says and goes back to dicking around on his phone.

"Wait, what?"

"We serve coffee the way it's supposed to be served. No sugar. No cream," he states, eyes never leaving the screen.

"What kind of coffee shop is this?"

"A coffee shop that sells actual coffee. If you want some skinny soy caramel extra double shot chai or whatever nonsense, then you should leave."

And jesus hell, they put this guy behind the register?

"Keith," a new voice comes and they both swivel their heads and Lance's eyes go a little rounder than normal. This guy is buff. But not too grossly buff. And his shirt is a godsend for guys who like other guys. "Sorry," he apologizes. "Keith usually just makes the coffee," he says with a sunny smile.

The man takes a breath and Lance tries to focus all his attention to the conversation they're going to have. But between his lack of sleep, the need for caffeine and the hard stare he's getting from 'Keith', he's hard- IT'S HARD. It. Is. Hard. To pay attention. Yes. That. Ahem.

"Yes, we do serve only black coffee, but the beans are single origin and you can have your choice of a pour over or a french press," he says with a smile. "If you're not used to black coffee we can start you off with a light roast?"

Lance looks down sheepishly. "I don't really know a lot about coffee," he admits.

Movement catches his eye and he sees as Keith wraps a hand around the big guys shoulder to tug him down a little and murmur something too soft for Lance to hear in his ear. The guy smiles fondly and nods. Keith moves to the area behind the counter.

"This one will be on the house," The guy says.

"Oh, no! I can't let you do-"

"Iss'fine," he hears from the back and that is the end of that. There's the sound of water and then grinding, presumingly of the beans, and a soft scent filters out from behind the partition and Lance's mouth starts to water. He even feels a little more awake.

"My name's Shiro," the guy, Shiro, introduces and holds out a hand. "And it’s my name over the door," he tells him proudly but not cockily.

"Lance," he says and takes Shiro's hand. It's stiff, a little cold. A prosthetic. He doesn't look at it. Instead, maintains eye contact with a smile. "I go to school around here but this is the first time I've come this way."

"How fortuitous," Shiro says before he squeezes Lance's hand gently and lets go. "Have a seat. Keith'll bring it out when it's ready."

Lance nods, glances at Keith one more time but he's busy measuring and setting up some sort of cone apparatus that sits atop a dark blue colored mug.

Lance pulls a chair out and sets his things down. He pulls out his phone and searches for the cafe. He gets a result showing a Japanese character signifying 'white'. Lance chuckles at the irony. He searches again and this time puts in city and the results come back more conclusive with the picture of the outside of the building and the reviews. 4.8/5. Lance raises his eyebrows.

Most of the reviews are of how good the coffee is, a few complains about the lack of parking. There's one 1 star rating that talks about a "surly young man that was quite rude" and Lance snickers.

There's various pictures of the interior full of people, a few hipster pictures of the actual coffee (but that's pretty boring), and one set that reveals the menu of the different beans. But all in all, pretty standard.

The dark blue mug gets set down in front of him with a small click.

It's gently steaming and smells divine. Less processed and more heady. It smells slightly of vanilla but the actual coffee smell is strong. It's not watered down by milk or artificial sweeteners and he thinks he'll like it.

Lance picks up the mug and blows over the rim, the ceramic warm but not burning hot, perfect for the nippy weather. He glances up and is started to find Keith still there. He has a steady gaze on him and his eyes are intense. "Are you going to watch?" Lance asks and fuck no- shit, not like that-

Keith raises an eyebrow. "If that's what you like," he answers lowly and fuck what- this is a complete one-eighty. Keith rolls his eyes down Lance's face, down his throat and hovers around his collar bones. He knows his shirt is loose around the neck and his skin is on fully display. He feels that looks like a brand.

"Oh- um. Is this? Are you buying me coffee?"

Keith just inclines his head, looking at Lance from under his lashes. "Drink it before it gets cold," he suggests sternly and oh mother mary- Lance can just hear that tone in his bedroom-

Lance takes a sip before he can ruin the moment with words and lets out a moan. His eyes flutter shut as he takes another. When he opens them again to look at Keith, he can see how his own eyes are blown wide.

“How is it?” Keith asks.

“Good,” he says. He clears his throat when he feels his voice about to catch. “Really good. It’s, really,” he takes another sip, more awake, this time paying attention to the flavor. It’s smooth and subtle. A little sweet, even without sugar. “It’s better than the stuff on 4th. Definitely better than the muck at the student center.”

“Thanks,” he says. He slides a folded piece of paper over the tabletop. “My number, if you’re interested,” and he keeps two of his fingers against the paper, keeping it down. Lance reaches over, covers Keith’s fingers with his palm and slides the paper out from under his hold a little. The corners of Keith’s mouth curl upwards.

He nods, continues, “Come back around 5, when I get off,” And Lance hears the meaning of something else entirely, but he’s keeping that thought to himself for now. “We can grab something to eat and,” he pauses here, looks hotly at Lance with no warning, “Talk.”

He leans forwards and slides his forefinger between Lance’s, skimming over the sensitive webbing and swirls around the knuckle.

“Enjoy your coffee, Lance.”


	3. Galtean (part 1)

Keith is short for an Altean. It’s his blood, really. A half-breed. He’s pale skinned with dark hair, a direct contrast to his cousin Allura, who stands tall and proud on the throne with her crown of silver tresses and golden tiara. But, when the time came, his marks glowed the same as hers and most of the court gossip surrounding him had died down when it did. 

Even though he’s an adult by Altean standards he still has the childlike worry that people don’t really like him because he’s different. It’s hard seated to shake, after being bullied when he was small. Children are cruel in the purest of ways and Keith has just that one insecurity left to shed.

There’s a slight breeze of misplaced air and Keith smiles.

“Your Highness,” comes a voice from behind him and Keith tucks his chin to try and shadow his smile.

“Blade,” Keith says in response, lifting his head once he re-schools his features into something more neutral.

“Come on, Keith, don’t be like that,” Lance pouts and materializes out of thin air in front of him. He has a section of his bottom lip clenched between his teeth in worry.

Keith keeps looking at the man in front of him with a straight face. He takes in the new scrape along his eyebrow but doesn't comment on it but he feels the worry bubble up inside of him nonetheless.

He lets Lance stew for a minute before he lets his face slit into a grin. “You’re the one that started it,” he says. “You know you don’t have to address me as such when we’re alone,” and Keith reaches up and circles Lance’s forearm quickly with his hand, sliding down his arm and presses his thumb into the tendon in his wrist before letting go.

Lance smiles back, wider than Keith ever could. “Did I sneak up on you good?”

“Well,” Keith corrects. “Did you sneak upon me  _ well _ ,” he says in example.

“Look, we can’t be all as  _ learned _ as you, Your Highness,” and Lance stresses his title, albeit playfully, albeit a little bitter. Keith looks at him and Lance is pouting.

“Breaking out the 50 gac terms, are you?” He jokes with a amused huff. “You're more learned than I'll ever be,” Keith murmurs. “I've never even left Altea,” he says with a sigh.

He shakes his head of his mood. “Tell me about where you went,” Keith says and he starts up his stroll. Lance falls into step behind him, the proper protocol as his guard.

And Lance talks, chatters really. His thoughts are scattered like leaves on the wind and Keith sinks into the warm comfort of his voice.

He tells him of the planet he was on-  _ the grass was purple, Keith! Kolivan nearly blended into it _ \- and he talks about the sunsets, two of them, set five minutes apart because of the twin stars in the sky.

He talks about the open markets and the stalls full of spices and wines from all over, the fine, silky fabrics from the deepest reach of space. There are even some Earth vendors now, their culture finally able to travel the vast distances there were unable to before.

He goes into length about the beach, how he would sit at the shore at night, his cheeks cool from the breeze and how his skin was stiff from the salt.

Lance bemoans how the gritty sand stuck to his suit and how uncomfortable  _ that  _ was, how he had to take extra time out of his sleep schedule to care for himself, exfoliating and masking and rose watering it up, all things from Earth that he picked up when he last went to visit.

He talks about that, too. How his father was doing, caught up with his mother stationed on Earth, how she beamed when she learned of his promotion. Proud that her son would be the successor to the Blade of Marmora.

Even his niece and nephew are so much bigger now, growing like weeds, as the Earthians say, and Lance shares the pictures with Keith. Nadia has two missing teeth, right in the front, and Luis is finally sprouting grey hairs at his temples.

Keith listens to this intently and hears what Lance doesn’t say.  _ I wish you were there, I wish I could show you all these things. I wish I could take you away and keep you.  _ But he never does and so Keith is left with only his month long visits before another mission comes and whisks him away for too long a stretch of time.

They make a round in the garden and enter back into the castle. They head to the kitchens where the sweet smell of bread is wafting through the halls. Lance snags a pastry, Hunk’s finest, after pounding him on the back with a friendly hand. He gives Hunk a small gadget and his friend’s face lights up. Hunk immediately sheds his apron and starts tinkering with it.

“You’ll spoil your dinner,” Keith says with a small frown.

“Nah, I got plenty of room,” and he pats at his stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”

“You’ve been saying that since you were twelve, and you’re how old now?” Keith pokes at his side and Lance jerks his spine to get away from his seeking fingers.

“Rude,” Lance huffs a laugh and nudges his shoulder against Keith’s.

The sun is starting to set and soon the bell will toll for the evening supper. “Mother is having a feast in honor of your return,” Keith says.

“I told the Head Advisor that it isn’t necessary.” He gives Keith a side look, sly and assessing. “You asked her to do that just because you wanted to have that braised Gorlak Hunk makes every time I visit,” He says around a mouth full of custard.

Keith sniffs and looks away, his cheeks heating a little at being caught. “There's dessert, too. The kind you like,” but it's really the kind  _ Keith _ likes. “And the wine you brought, once. Father enjoyed it so much he had mother have a crate delivered.” But really, it was Keith that had three glasses and had to carted off by Lance himself.

Lance just laughs and his voice is the sound of little bells.

“Come on, then, Your Highness. Let’s go spoil ourselves.”

 


	4. Mermaid

Keith is sitting on the lid of the toilet in his bathroom. He has his chin in his hand and is currently rethinking all of his life choices. He has a wiki page open to- to- he can’t even say it… and everything about this information is wrong. It says that these creatures are elusive with a lilting voice. The thing currently in front of him he found on the shore at sunrise, and his voice is distinctively whiny.

“Keeeeith, pay attention to me,” the  _ mermaid  _ in his tub grumbles. “This water is too cold,” it says as it pouts.

Keith sighs. This is what happens when he tries to be a Good Samaritan.

“Running hot water is expensive,” Keith tells it.

Water flicks in his direction from a swish of a long blue tail.

“Please don’t do that,” he says as he takes the towel down from the rung. “You’re making a mess,” and he wipes down the floor before any accidents happen. “Listen, you-”

“I told you my name is Lance!” the mermaid says as he puffs out his cheeks.

“Listen, Lance,” Keith hangs his head. “Do you want me to take you back to the ocean? I mean, this can’t be comfortable for you,” he says gesturing to his bathtub.

Lance turns in the tub, his skin dark against the enamel. His shoulders glisten and at the curve of his neck Keith sees light colored scales that shimmer like opals. They travel up and Keith can see tucked frills of the same color. His eyes are blue, sharp and glittering like crystals and Keith thinks about the ocean at midday.

“The beach, it’s really dirty,” he says quietly as he looks down at the floor and Keith has  sudden pang of guilt. It is after all Lance's home. “I like it here,” he continues, his voice stronger. “I like you,” and he lifts his face, a smile stretching against his cheeks. “You saved me.”

Keith feels his face heat and he looks away. “Anyone would have,” he mumbles, suddenly shy.

“Maybe,” Lance says with a shrug, “But it was you, so, thank you.”

Keith glances in Lance’s direction, gives him a small smile. Lance beams, must get excited, because he submerges his body back into the tub and Keith can see over the edge how the gills over his ribs flare and contract and oh, that’s kind of neat.

His eyes travel down a slim waist to where the scales really start going and they glint lightly under the water. Lance's tail is long, longer than his human half and Keith can tell just by looking that he's a strong swimmer. His belly tapers to white, with a small indent of a belly button.

“I guess I have to feed you, too,” Keith says with a pseudo huff tearing his eyes away. But Lance has already caught him looking and flicks his tail conspiratorially. Keith busies himself with his phone, pulling up a note taking application. “What kind of stuff do you like to eat?”

Lance starts rattling off snacks and desserts by the dozen and Keith sighs again as he thinks on how he’s going to have to reorganize his budget for the un-foreseeable future.


	5. Hogwarts

Lance knows he shouldn’t be out at night. It’s against the school rules. He’s no goody two shoes, and he really doesn’t want to lose his House any points, but he saw Keith sneaking out after dinner and he’s going to get this sucker into so much trouble. Especially for going into the Forbidden Forest without a teacher. 

Lance pulls his invisibility cloak tighter around his shoulders. It’s cold out tonight and the sweater under his robes only keeps him so warm. Lance is keeping pace with Keith, can see the faint circle of light about 50 yards in front of him.

He keeps track of the time by the movement of the moon and it's nearly ten and Keith just keeps walking. They’re deep in the woods now and the trees press in close to him on either side but the path is well worn, wide and beaten and Lance figures that Hagrid must come this way as well. Keith’s light keeps shining strong.

The light up ahead stops and goes out and Lance has a terrible moment of panic. What if he gets lost? What if something attacks him in the dark? What if Keith knows he’s been following him?

_ Come on, Lance, where’s your bravery? You got sorted into Gryffindor for Chrissakes. _

He keeps walking, maintaining his light steps. The clouds overhead roll away from the moon and he can see the path. He keeps walking it, praying to Godric that he finds Keith again, pride be damned. He’s going to catch him doing whatever he’s doing out here red (haha) handed, and report him for disobeying school rules. Then he’s going to kindly escort Keith back to the castle (with Keith in front, definitely not leading the way. It’s just so that he can keep an eye on him, that’s  _ all _ ).

The path ends at a wide circular clearing and Keith standing off to one side. He has his hands up in midair and he has a gentle smile on his face.

Something passes by him, a cold displacement of air and Lance yelps. As he tries to side-step the unseen thing, he steps on the hem of his invisibility cloak and it pulls from the top of his head.

Keith, drawn to the noise, startles and looks in his direction. “Lance? What are you doing out here?”

Lance feels his face immediately heat. “What are  _ you  _ doing out here! Sneaking out after curfew is against the rules!” he says as he pulls the rest of the cloak off. Mrs Norris is outta of the bag now.

Keith turns his attention to the front of him, his hands placating. “Hey, hey now, shh,” and he’s clicking his tongue in the way you would to try and calm a horse. “Lower your voice, you’re scaring them,” Keith says to him across the clearing.

Lance closes his mouth and looks around. He doesn’t see anything and Lance is worried that Keith’s gone ‘round the absolute twist.

“The thestrals,” Keith says and starts moving his hand in a petting motion.

“Oh,” Lance whispers. He moves over to Keith, suddenly hyper aware that he might bump into one of these things without notice. 

Keith chuckles, noticing his wary looks. “They’re mostly gathered over there,” and he jerks with his chin, motioning towards the far end of the clearing.

Lance comes up to Keith and tucks his invisibility cloak under his arm. Can’t be losing that now. He tucks part of it into the waistband of his jeans, just in case.

“Were you following me?” Keith asks him.

Lance screws up his face, his goal right back in front of him. “Yes! I had to see what you were doing,” he says and puts his fists on his hips. “You’re going to get in trouble and lose House points.”

“Wouldn’t that be the same for you, then?” Keith jokes. His hand is sliding rhythmically up and down and Lance’s eyes are drawn to it.

“No, if anything, I’m going to be commended for turning in a delinquent!” he tells Keith.

One side of Keith’s cheek bulges as the corner of his mouth lifts. “Sure, whatever you say, Lance,” he tells him with a smirk. Lance, after hanging out with Pidge for so long, can hear sarcasm when he hears it.

He’s about to cut a scathing remark but something bumps his arm and Lance stumbles from the shock of it. He reaches out and grabs onto Keith’s shoulder for balance. “Hey!” he shouts at the air beside him. Keith chuckles and the sound goes straight to his chest. His face heats.

“It’s one of the foals,” Keith tells him, taking his wrist. “Hold your hand flat,” he tells him. Lance does as he’s told and soon, Keith is guiding his arm and pressing it onto cool flesh. It’s smooth but a little rough, almost leathery, like the skin of a shark, and Lance can feel the muscles twitching under his palm.

“Oh,” he sighs out. “Wow.”

“Her name is Trixie,” Keith tells him. Something big moves away and Keith’s arms drop, only to raise again when another presence fills the space in front of them. “Maddison gave birth to her about a month ago.” Lance feels a hard nuzzle against his other hand, the feeling of a damp nose against his curl of his palm. “She likes you,” Keith tells him, almost fond.

They stand together. Lance, unable to see what he’s doing, just randomly runs his hands over whatever’s under it. Keith’s for his part, seems to be petting different thestrals at varying intervals and the only indication of when they come and go is when the space in front of them seems to empty and fill with large bodies.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says quietly. He hears a faint nicker from the foal and then a light nudge to his arm, it’s a little startling but comforting all at the same time. “About, whatever happened, whoever it is,” he swallows.  _ That died. _

Keith’s head is bowed, his eyes shadowed by his unruly bangs. He gives a little sniff but it’s barely there. “Thanks,” Keith mumbles. “We should go back. It’s late,” he tells Lance and gives whichever creature in front of him several pats.

“Hey,” Lance says, drawing Keith’s attention. “Can I come out again with you next time?”

Keith looks at him to see if he's joking. But Lance isn't. He's never Keith look at anything like how he is right now. A little sad. A little proud. His face not tensed up with anger. Lance likes this new face Keith wears, even if it's just for now. He gives Keith an encouraging smile, an olive branch.

“Okay,” Keith says, voice small, pleased. “Bring some apples next time,” he tells him as he starts walking, wand out and tip glowing. “They like to catch them in the air when you throw them.”


	6. Roommates

It’s days like this that Keith loves. The apartment is quiet and the lights are off save for the lamp over his shoulder. He’s sitting next to the radiator in a recliner that’s seen better days and his feet are propped up in Lance’s lap as he reads. 

Lance, for his part, is slouched in the mismatched high-back armchair that used to belong to Shiro. He’s playing on their shared Switch, button mashing and cursing Link every so often when he messes up the timing on killing the Guardians.

It’s raining and the glass is streaked with fat droplets of water. Keith pauses from his book to watch as two raindrops race and join to slide down the smooth surface. He smiles and thinks it’s a good analogy for their lives.

They’ve made a home here. It’s ramshackle at best but it’s theirs. It has pieces of everyone’s life. Books from Hunk, the old beat up Playstation from Pidge. Shiro sprung hard and got them a nice set of pots and pans. Plants from Matt that Lance talks to daily (and Keith does occasionally, when no one's around). And Allura puts their kitchen to shame from the expensive dutch oven she gave them as a housewarming gift.

Most days Lance does the cooking. It’s not that Keith  _ can’t  _ cook, he just fakes bad dishes to get out of it. He enjoys watching Lance shimmy around the kitchen with some annoying Drake or Nikki on, but Lance insists that it gives more flavor to the food. Keith can’t blame him though. Whenever he makes his dad’s chili he always puts in the the secret ingredient.

“It’s cold,” Lance says suddenly, drawing Keith from his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he replies as he digs his feet harder Lance’s thighs. He wiggles his toes for good measure.

“Will you make your daddy’s chili?” he asks not looking up from his game. Keith quirks an eyebrow. But, no. People can’t read minds. If that were so, Keith’d be in big trouble.

“You’ll have to wait,” he says. “Maybe an hour,” he tells Lance as he stands and stretches.

“‘Kay,” and Lance goes back to focusing all on his game.

Keith pads into the kitchen and starts pulling down ingredients. It’ll take him the better part of an hour to get everything cut and pre-cooked but his dad’s chili recipe really is good.

And Lance  _ did _ ask.

He has the cut chunks of meat browned, the onions gone soft and the tomatoes in when he furtively looks around. He hears the sound of the sink in the bathroom so Lance isn’t anywhere near to see what he’s about to do. Better make this quick.

He presses his fingers to his mouth and blows a kiss into the pot.

“Oh my god,” Lance says suddenly behind him.

“What the fuck?!” and Keith whirls and Lance is standing into the doorway of the kitchen. The faucet in the bathroom is still on. “Did you- on purpose?”

Lance gives him a look, amused, curious. He goes to the bathroom and turns off the sink and comes back. Leans his long frame against the chipping paint and waits.

Keith sighs through his nose, closes his eyes. Turns back around and looks down at the chili. He jams the spoon in and starts stirring. “Secret ingredient,” he mumbles.

Lance sidles up to Keith, cocks his hip against the counter. “Do what now?” he asks again and Keith looks up. Lance has a wide grin on his face, all teeth. He looks like a shark.

“I  _ said _ ,” and he bites out the words, “That that was the Secret Ingredient,” he says as he forcefully concentrates on, stirring clockwise twice, then counterclockwise four times. He sprinkles in cayenne pepper, then a little more out of spite. Keith can take the heat, would prefer it more spicy even, but he knows Lance can’t. He’ll be crying for days.

Lance chuckles and faces the counter. He starts taking down bowls and pulls out the half-empty bag of cornmeal.

“Are you making cornbread?” Keith asks as he watches Lance start to put everything in the bowl. He dices up some jalapenos and adds them to the batter. Seeds and all and holy shit- Lance making  _ him  _ cornbread.

“Mmhm,” he hums, and dumps a quarter bag of shredded sharp cheddar into the bowl. He hip checks Keith, sending him staggering. “Yeah, and maybe you can add your ‘special ingredient’ to this, too,” he cackles.


	7. Supernatural

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get you a mans that’ll go along with your cryptid hunts.

Lance is freezing his dick off. He’s huddled in his jacket and his thighs have gone numb from the cold. Even his earmuffs and beanie aren’t doing shit. Lance tucks his chin to the high collar of his puffy jacket and breathes through his nose slowly trying to de-thaw his lips. 

“I wanna go,” Lance says, whining out the vowel to leave. “It’s below negative fifty and I can’t feel my toes.”

Keith looks at him from under his fringe. His hair is pulled up in a ponytail for chrissakes, exposing the white skin of his neck. Lance can see the dark red bruise he put right under Keith’s ear before Keith playfully shoved him away and took out his camera.

Lance thought, yeah sure, come out during the night, neck a little, maybe score in the backseat of his car before going home. You know, have some fun.

But no.

Keith’s fun is fucking looking for fucking cryptid at fucking ass o’clock in the freezing fucking cold.

Lance huffs and his breath rises before him like a cloud. His nose is running and he sniffles. Keith gives him a small smile and shuffles a little closer, pressing his warm body against Lance’s and even through all their layers of clothing, Keith heats like a furnace. “That is so not fair,” he pouts and presses his nose to Keith’s neck.

He starts a little, giggles when Lance nuzzles deeper. “Come on, please? He’s not coming out tonight. Can’t we try this when it’s a little warmer? Like during the summer time?” He says against the smooth skin of Keith’s throat.

“Would you rather get eaten by mosquitoes?” He fires back and rubs his hands up and down Lance’s sides to try and get him to warm up.

Lance grunts. “Please, I’m so cold. It’s been almost four hours. This joker ain’t gonna show. We put out all kinds of snacks and I think the only visitors we had were that band of raccoons.”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, alright,” he says and stands, his knees creaking and popping as he does. Lance tries to unfold himself from his tucked position but his limbs are too stiff. He holds up a hand and Keith grips it, his palm soft and warm and that is so not fair. Keith rubs his thumb over Lance’s knuckles to warm his hand up.

“How are you so warm when it’s-”

A branch cracks loudly and both their heads snap to the sound. There’s a pause and then some quiet shuffling but the dry, dead branches creak and snap and the leaves sound like they're being pushed out of the way by something with big feet…

“Fuck fuck fuck Keith-” and he’s tugging insistently at Keith but he’s rooted to the spot, staring hard at the darkness. His camera is still in his hand, the LCD screen the only thing bright in the underbrush they standing amongst.

“Keith, turn that shit off, it’ll see us,” he whispers shrilly. Keith still doesn’t move. “This isn’t some t-rex, Keith! It. Will. Still. See you even if you’re not mov- fuck, give me that,” and Lance grabs the camera and snaps the screen shut.

The noise of the footsteps pause and then start up again, and Lance- when the shit gets real he’s actually really dependable. Keith’s usually the one that’s flipping out. Lance raises the camera, holds it up to his eye and points it in the direction of the noise.

The night vision camera Keith got was expensive, almost three months of his paycheck and Lance is so fucking glad he got it because the picture that filters through is crisp and bright and Lance can see a huge, lumbering figure not even thirty yards away. The blackness of the woods isn’t to be trifled with, though and the big- whatever it is, is still too far away to make out but it’s looking straight at Lance with two glowing eyes.

Panic shoots up his throat and he spins on his heel, grabbing Keith’s whole arm and taking off. He steps through the clearing and the clouds roll away from the moon giving him light to see by so that he doesn't trip and break his neck. He takes Keith and scurries down a short hill, looks for the path back to the parking lot and finds it easily.

He slams against the side of his car and the frame rocks on the suspension as he digs in his jeans pocket for the keys. “Get in!” he yells at Keith and Keith hurries over to the passenger side of the car. The doors open with a flash of lights and they dive inside, locking the doors. Lance jams the key into the ignition and the engine roars to life and he peels out of the parking lot in his haste.

“Did you see it? Was it-?” Keith asks turning to him, his voice breathy and excited and-

“Shut up, shut up, I don’t know what I saw. It could have been a fucking bear-”  _ bears don’t stand on two legs, _ “It was a bear, yeah. A bear.” He repeats.

“Lance- don’t freak out on me, tell me what you saw!” and Keith grabs at the camera that was thrown into the backseat. He cycles through the footage. “You didn’t record it!” He shouts. “Turn around!”

“No, nononono, we’re gettin’ out of here,” Lance says as he presses his foot harder against the gas. He’s right under the speed limit, but just barely.

“If you don’t go back, I won’t pay out*,” Keith says, face set. Lance slams the breaks and the car stutters to a halt.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, jaw dropping.

“I would, and I’ll withhold any sort of future withdrawal**,” he threatens.

“Oh my god, Keith, that thing was looking right at me!” He screeches. “I don’t know what the hell it was-I don’t know, okay?!” he shouts. “Listen, whatever it was, if it is-” he closes his eyes and grips the steering wheel hard. “We’re already far away and it probably got what it wanted and left. We can-” and he raises his voice over Keith’s inhale. “Come back another night,” he offers. “Okay?”

Keith huffs and sits back in his seat, huffing through his nose. “Fine,” he grunts. He sighs. “Alright,” he says after a moment. “But we’re doing this again tomorrow.”

Lance smiles at him, shakes his head, and eases the car back into the right lane.

“Thanks,” Keith says quietly, “for coming out with me,” he says as he looks out the window. Lance can see in the reflection of the window that his cheeks are pink. His hand is laying up on the console between them, a silent offering.

Lance reaches out and takes hold of Keith’s warm hand. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Now about that payment***.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sex, they’re talking about sex
> 
> **still talking about sex
> 
> ***they compromised on a blowie


	8. Internet Friends

Keith’s about fourteen hours ahead of him and sometimes it’s a blessing, and sometimes it’s a curse. They’re schedules tend to match up most of the time, but when it doesn’t it’s hard to hail each other. It’s not like Lance can hop in a magical, out of space robot or something and just fly over to see him. No. He lives in the really real word and that kind of stuff is for little kids, anyways.

Right now, he’s lying on his stomach in bed with his Skype on, waiting for Keith to get on his lunch hour so Lance can call him. It’s always cute seeing what Shiro made for him to eat, always with cat shaped rice balls and little hot dog octopuses.

They’ve been friends for a while now, met through a /r/DND thread and it kind of went from there. Shiro is their dungeon master and he’s met some pretty cool people through them. At first Lance didn’t like Keith. Didn’t like his attitude, how he spoke to him- curt and exasperated. He didn’t like his hair, such as it is. Who has a mullet these days? Hello, the 90’s called and they want their god awful hairstyle back.

Lance scoffs as he shoves a whole Twinkie in his mouth.

The Skype jingle plays as the call comes through and in a panic Lance hits the answer button by accident and he watches in horror as his face expands then contracts to the little square at the bottom, his cheeks round and a little bit of whipped cream coming out of one corner.

“Hey,” Keith says. He has his bangs pulled up and he looks like a pineapple.

“‘Lo,” Lance answers, chewing fast. He manages to swallow around a hunk of pastry and nearly chokes. It goes down hard and Lance wishes he had something to wash it down with.

“What are you eating?” Keith asks him, his brows furrowed over his eyes.

“Ah’Dwin’ee,” he manages. Chews more and swallows again.

“Those are terrible for your health. Something that lasts ten years can’t be good for your body,” Keith tells him.

“It’s not your body,” Lance says as he swallows the rest through sheer willpower. “Time is it?” he asks, trying to buy himself time from dying.

“Mm, about quarter after,” Keith tells him as he sets up his lunch area. Napkin over his thigh, his bento box cradled in one, large hand. A can of soda.

Lance hums.

“You got club after school?” Lance asks as he takes out his phone and starts scrolling through his Instagram feed.

“Not today,” Keith says as the camera shifts and he angles it down for Lance to see the contents. There they are; cat shaped rice balls and hot dog octopuses. There’s some chicken and an egg that's pressed into the shape of a bear. Cucumber slices and cherry tomatoes. It’s a lunch you’d see on the cover of a ‘How to Make Bento’ book. Lance chuckles.

“It’s supposed to rain this afternoon,” Keith explains as he pulls the camera back around to face him. He digs in with a gusto and Lance watches as he eats. His cheek bulges as he tucks a bit of food there to chew. Lance secretly thinks it’s adorable.

They’re talking, laughing, joking when a voice calls out to Keith. Lance hears Keith’s name, then a question in Japanese spoken by a girl. Lance’s face instantly flushes. This has happened once or twice before when they’ve talked during Keith’s lunch, and it’s always the same. Keith looks back at him, gives him an apologetic smile.

The conversation is always the same.

They’re confessing to him. Always.

And Keith turns them down. Always.

If Lance weren’t so jealous, he’d be upset. Not of Keith, of  _ course not _ . Those Japanese girls must be infected with that weird harajuku style or something for them to like  _ Keith.  _ Yeah.

He’s just jealous of all the attention his bozo is getting is all. Not like he has an attractive face, or broad shoulders, or a stupidly wicked sense of sarcastic humor, or that his mouth has the most prettiest cupid’s bow he’s ever seen. Lance means, yeah, he  _ does.  _ Just because he has eyes doesn’t mean that Lance  _ likes  _ him likes him.

There’s some sniffles so that must mean that he’s turned down another one. Again. Like always. There’s some murmured words on Keith’s part. They’re pitched low but they sound fond, like he’s talking about someone he cares about, telling the girl the same story. That he appreciates their sentiments, but he already has feelings for another person. Keith’s never said who or shown him a picture. But whoever it is, Keith’s been hung up on this person for a long time.

“Sorry,” Keith apologizes when he comes back.

“Nah,” Lance says as he rolls onto his back. His shoulders have gotten sore propping himself up and he arches his spine, cracking his back. When he rolls back onto his stomach, he brings his pillow around to prop under his chest.

Much better.

When he looks at Keith to ask him a question about their current DND encounter, Keith’s quiet, his eyes round and his face a little pink. “You alright, dude?”

Keith clears his throat, licks his lips, eyes shifting to the side. “Y-yeah,” licks his lips again, swallows. “So, uh, we’re going to be visiting the States this summer and I know you said you had some family in Florida and you were going to see them, too,” and Keith’s words rush over each other like he’s trying to get out as much as he can before they stop. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet up?”

Lance’s brain stalls for a minute. “Like, in real life?” and his face is hurting from how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah! Dude! Yeah! Holy shit that’s exciting! Yeah, we can definitely meet! Oh, man, I’m so stoked!”

And Keith’s halfway around the world, but Lance can feel his smile all the way down his stomach and back and oh-  _ oh _ . He sees the way the corners of Keith’s eyes crinkle and how round his face looks when he’s smiling like that. And that pink cupid’s bow, just begging to be peppered with kisses because of how cute it is.

Oh. No.


	9. Garrison

Lance is out after hours and sneaking around the school and he really really shouldn’t be cause it’ll be detention for weeks if he’s caught but Keith got another high score on the simulator today and Lance just. Can’t. Have. That. So he’s going to practice. Get the course memorized so that he’ll be moving with muscle memory instead of getting surprised at every turn.

He pulls short when he sees a faint glowing coming through a crack the door to the flight simulator room. He chews on his lip, torn between going back to bed and looking to see who it is. If it’s someone he hates he’s so gonna bust ‘em. But if it’s a kid like him trying to get better, he’ll leave them be. He pushes the door open a little and sees the screen going through the phases and he instinctively checks the left corner of the stats. He looks to the pilot and sees a curl of dark hair.

He’d recognize that mullet anywhere.

“What are you doing?” He says loudly, suddenly, and Keith starts, but, ever the golden child, doesn’t crash and burn, just swerves a little and steers back on track.

“Holy- who-” and he turns his head a little. His face contorts into a funny expression. “Lance?”

“It’s late and you’re out past curfew. Iverson’s gonna have your head if he finds out, _ ”  _ and, Lance thinks,  _ He knows my name _ . He feels a little giddy. But Keith doesn’t need to know that.

“Iverson can suck it,” he says absently. “You’re up, too,” he points out.

“Yes, well, I’m better at sneaking around. You had the door wide open!” he says as he waves his arms around, trying to distract Keith. It’s a level he’s seen only a few times and only because Keith’s flown it. Maybe from James Griffin, once and he burned out early.

“It wasn’t wide open,” he argues and finishes the level he’s currently on. The machine powers down, the exhaust blowing warm air out into the room and the screen on stand-by. “I’m waiting for a call from Shiro,” he says offhandedly. “Good way to pass the time,” and he nods towards the screen.

“How’s the exploration crew?” Lance asks, grasping at straws for small talk.

Keith looks at his communicator. “Good,” he states. “They’re rounding Mars now. They should be back in a few days,” and he looks up to Lance. “You  never answered my question,” he says critically.

Lance shuffles his feet, looks at the simulator screen and then away. “I was going to come practice,” he mumbles.

“Oh, alright,” Keith says and clambers out of the chair. He’s in pair of joggers and a soft looking tee shirt and he smells like sleep and soap. “You can go,” and leans on table nearby. He has his communicator in his hand, checking the time.

Lance feels the back of his neck start to sweat. “I’m not in the mood now,” he says, defeated. After looking at Keith’s score when he was flying really punched him in the ego.

“What are you talking about?”

“Dude, you think I can follow up after watching you fly?”

“Lance,” Keith says sternly, putting his communicator down. “Get in the chair,” he tells him sternly and it’s a voice that Iverson uses to get cadets to pay attention. Lance slide into the pilot’s seat, the cushion still warm from it’s previous occupant.

“Listen,” he says as he pulls up the leader board. “I want you to take a look at this,” and Lance glances away from Keith’s name at the top. “No, look.”

And Lance looks.

“I fly this quickly but look at how many hits the ship takes,” and Lance reads it to himself. “If this were out  _ there,”  _ and he nods towards the ceiling,  _ “ _ Instead of an enclosed space with no real threat I would be dead.” And Keith does have a point.

“Now, I want you to look at the name right below mine,” and Lance does. He knows whose it is, hates that he’s in second place all the time, tries to beat Keith’s record whenever he sits in this chair. “Tell me, how many hits do you take?”

Lance swallows. Feels his face heat. Is Keith… Is he trying to cheer him up? “None,” he says quietly. “But it takes me half as long,” he points out.

Keith shakes his head. “Look at the name below yours,” he tells him. Lance does, his eyes widening. The next person takes twice as long as  _ him _ and takes just about as many hits as Keith.

“Oh,” he breathes out.

“Yeah,” Keith says, suddenly close, leaning over the back of the chair. “You choke up too much on the stick,” he tells him. “You need to hold it loose but be ready to tighten your grip when something crosses your path,” and _María_ , this boy is talking about flying a plane- nothing more- nothing more- but the smell of him and his low voice and the way Lance’s heart is pounding is really… distracting.

Keith takes his wrist and guides his arm over to the handle closest. He squeezes Lance’s hand over the controller, not too hard but with just enough pressure. The action brings him crouched over Lance’s shoulder and his face close to his ear and jesus holy mother mary  _ please _ , “Just like that,” and Keith doesn’t. Mean. Anything. By. It.

Still logged into his name, Keith opens up a flight path from his unlocked list and says, “Try it out.”

Lance nods, not trusting his voice. He’s watched Keith fly this before, it’s pretty straightforward with a little bit of turbulence at the end. Keith gives him few pointers, always reminding him to ease up on the stick whenever Lance feels his shoulders tighten.

He finishes the run well over Keith’s time, but, no hits. It brings Keith’s average down, but not by much.

“You did good,” Keith tells him. “And, makes it seem like I didn’t get hit at all, thanks for that,” Keith jokes.

“Hey,” Lance says back playfully. “You better not be using me for making your score better, ‘cause now that I know the secret, I’ll be taking that top spot, just you watch,” he says, twisting his neck to look at Keith.

“Yeah, sure, sure, whatever you say,” Keith sasses. Then his looks turns a little shy, a little sly. “We’ll see who’s going to be on top.”


	10. Pacific Rim AU

"Damnit!" Keith shouts as he rips his helmet from his head. He throws it to the floor and it bounces away with a clatter. "Shiro, I can't work with this guy," he spits as he watches Lance pull his helmet off his head with a sigh. He tucks it under his arm and drops to his knees, tired. They've been running simulations all morning and they've disconnected too many times.

There's some light static and Shiro's voice comes through the line. "Keith, what did I tell you," he lectures, "You have to have patience, without it, you can't focus," he tells him.

"This guy's thoughts are all over the place!" he shouts through the comms, looking at Shiro through the glass across the training deck.

"'This Guy' is right here, and I can hear every word you're saying," he argues. "You're the one too focused on one memory," he says a little quietly, almost guilty. Like he shouldn’t be saying these things out loud. But his face is set, his mouth a thin line. Keith wants to smack it off with the flat of his hand.

Keith feels his face heat. He’s angry that Lance would throw that out there. He stalks up to him, presses his puffed out chest to his. Lance swallows but doesn’t back down, his chin jutted from the tenseness of his jaw.

“Gentlemen, you’re going to pilot this Jaeger as a team or not at all,” Shiro says over the comms. He’s using his commander voice and it forces Keith to heel. “Whatever the beef is between you two, either squash it, or ship out,” he says as he shuts down the simulator and the room dims, the auxiliary lights the only things reflecting off of Lance’s face.

Lance pushes at Keith's chest and he sways a little from the force. Keith shoves him back. Lance's arms pinwheel and he staggers away and uses the momentum of getting back his balance to charge at Keith.

Keith takes the brunt of it to the sternum, plants his feet, braces and takes Lance's shoulder with the curl of his body.

“You're the one that ran away! Why are you getting mad at me for!” Lance shouts.

“You weren't supposed to follow me!” And all Keith can see are the dark blue of Lance's eyes, stormy and sad- crystalline and glittering as he told him he was leaving for the corps. It's the only thing he ever remembers about Lance. How he hurt him. They were the best of friends and Keith abandoned him. “You were supposed to stay!” He shouts and wrangles Lance around.

“I’m not some fucking dog at your beck and call, Keith,” Lance grunts as he wiggles out of Keith’s hold. “I do what I want,” and Keith’s memory is cast back to when they were younger, so young- so very young, round in the face and flush with excitement as they ran to the edge of the dock, watching the Jaegers being flown in. Lance had just turned 9 and Keith was rounding on 11 and the entire summer belonged to them.

“I’m going to be in one of those,” Keith remembers himself saying.

“Me too,” Lance chimes in. “Do you think we’re compatible to drift together?” He asks as he turns to Keith. He’s missing a tooth, and his smile looks like a crooked jack-o-lantern and Keith maybe 10 going on 11 but he knows that he’d do anything for Lance. Would do anything to protect that smile.

“Dunno, you’re kind of small,” he tells Lance. But he’s only teasing. He would be so excited to have Lance as his Drift partner.

“Hey,  _ mama  _ says I’m still growing!” he pouts and jumps down from the railing. His face is a little damp from the ocean spray. “When I’m a grown-up, I’ll do what I want,” he announces proudly in the way only little kids can do.

Keith sees this all in his mind’s eye. Sees how they grow, every year Lance getting taller and taller, challenging Keith, running with Keith, walking the long, winding way through the park and always always always ending up at the far edge of the Garrison where they see the imposing silhouettes of the Jagers at sunset.

“I got recruited to pilot,” he says one day and he rubs the tip of his shoe against the concrete to snuff out his cigarette. “I’m going to ship out in two days,” he says looking at their feet between them.

Lance shoves hard at his shoulder and Keith looks sharply up. “Two days?” and, the dreaded words he’s been anticipating: “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” he says sullenly, dropping his eyes back to the ground. But he knows what Lance means.

He’s had this argument in his head so many times. What he would say, what Lance could say. Has had so many different universes born and die inside of him of this exact moment. “They’re sending me to South America where the Red Lion is being built,” and the words are getting heavier and heavier as they pass through his lips. “They’re experimenting with something called quintessence and its supposed to merge the pilot and the Jaeger closer toge-”

“I don’t fucking care about that,” Lance cuts in. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could have gone in together,” he says so dangerously calm. Keith chances a glance up and he sees the hard set of Lance’s jaw, the still glitter in his eyes. He’s never seen Lance this angry before and the image burns itself into his brain.

“I don’t want you,” Keith spits out and no that’s not what he means at all. “You’re too small, Lance, too slow and clumsy. We could never Drift together,” and there, he’s said it. Hurt Lance in the deepest of ways so that he won’t go headlong into danger with him like how he always does.

“Fuck you, Keith,” and he shoves him hard. And, true to his part, in for a penny, in for a pound, Keith shoves him back.

Maybe Lance wasn’t expecting it, maybe he’s still reeling from Keith’s news but he stumbles, his long limbs flailing and in any other situation it would be hilarious. But it’s not and he just looks stunned. He catches himself on the chain link fence and it breaks his fall.

And his eyes- crystal cut blue and seething.

Those same eyes look at him now- bright and wild and Keith sees the man that Lance has become in the time that they’ve been separated. He’s broad in the shoulders with a scar running over the arch of his eyebrow. It’s long since healed and the skin is a blended white against his skin.

Lance has muscle now, his neck thicker and his hands more worn, knuckles prominent. Keith feels pride well up inside of him, a strange sensation.  _ Look at what you’ve become without me, look at how beautiful you’ve become _ , and, then, guiltily, sadly,  _ I didn’t get to see any of that _ .

Keith sighs and it’s such a heavy sound. “Look,” he says, an olive branch. He’s still trying to catch his breath. Lance is strong now, could probably stand with him toe to toe in a fight and that same, strange wave of pride washes over him. “Shiro wants us to pilot together, so we’ll pilot together,” he says slowly, feeling around in his mouth for the right words.

“Whatever,” he takes a breath, glances up at Lance, “Whatever happened in the past, let’s leave it there for now.” He picks up his helmet and tucks it under his arm.

He holds out his hand. “I don’t want to bury it,” he says lowly, “I- I’m sorry, but- I just wanted,” and he can’t find the words, he only feels them

 

_ I want to get to know you, again- _

_ … -tell me everything I've missed- _

_ -we were so close, once... _

_ I was so fucking stupid please please please... _

_ -... let me get close to you again- _

 

_ Lance... _

 

“You felt it.” He finishes lamely.

Lance’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth. Works around his words.

Lance takes his outstretched hand. “That doesn't mean I'll forgive you,” he murmurs, less heat, more of the old Lance he used to know and Lance always did forgive him when he said that.

Keith feels his heart start to hope.


	11. YouTuber's

"Good evening! Welcome everyone! Thanks for joining in. As you all know, we've been running a poll to see what game we should play together and you guys have been diligently retweeting suggestions, and, by a landslide, the game 'Slender' won. Now, I don't know what this game is about. All I know is that it's spooky."

"Everyone should log off right now because all Lance is going to be doing is screaming his head off for most of the stream."

"Hey, rude ass, I don't get scared."

"Yeah, tell that to my eardrums in twenty minutes."

"Putting Keith's snide remarks to the side, we're about to get started here."

"Lance, don't turn off the lights, you're going to scare yourself."

"Listen, I'm a big boy. I'm not scared of the dark. Who are you texting? We're in the middle of the stream.”

"Hunk. I'm asking him to bake you those pity cookies you like because you'll be crying so hard by the time we're done."  
  
"Oh my god, I won't!"

"Mmhm."

"Let's just get started."

"Alright, whatever you say. You want the mouse or the keyboard? You know what, nevermind. If you're in charge of the keyboard you're just going to run into him."

"Move over, you're hogging the desk space."

"I'm on my side."

"What's that, oh that's just the grass noise ha ha."

"Just pay attention. We need to get eight papers to win."

"Where are they?"

"Just all over. You have to walk around."

"'Kay. What's that?"

"Nice, that's where the one of the pages are. Turn the flashlight off, we don't need it right now. You're going to drain the battery."

"'Kay- HO FUCK WHAT WAS THAT?"

"Calm down, it does that."

"Jesus."

"You see folks, only screaming."

"Shut the hell up. Where's the next paper."

"Easiest is the bathrooms. Turn the light on for a sec. 'Kay, it's this way, no the other way."

"You're terrible at directions."

"Bite me. Alright, keep that light on for now, it's too dark in here without it."

"Jesus Mother Mary walk walk walk we're walking we're walking what the fuck that chair is creepy as shit, I hate these corners Keeeith. Oh, there's one. OH MY GOD WHAT'S THAT NOISE."

"Lance, calm down! It's the game." 

“Let’s get out of this building.”

“The next paper is outside, on the tanks. Go around the other side, oh, shit he’s here, hurry grab it, grab it, Lance!”

“GOD WHAT IS THAT I CAN’T SEE IS THAT THE GAME HEARTBEAT OR MINE?”

“It’s the game, we’re okay, that's just there to make you anxious.”

"Well, it's doing a fine jo-  KEITH- HE'S HERE FUCK FUCK RUN AWAY SPRINT SOMETHING-"

"Ow! Lance, you're pointing the wrong-"

"C HRIST AAAAH KEITH!"

*the sound of a headset being thrown*

*static*  
  
“Well, sorry about that, folks, we lost ha ha. Hope you had a good scare. We’ll be doing another stream next week. Same time, same place!”

*keeps streaming by accident*

*muffled voices*

“Keith turn on all the fucking lights in the house! I don’t care about the power bill! You don’t even pay it! What the fuck was that? Oh my god, Keith he’s here, he’s here and gonna eat my ass and not in a fun wayyyyy Keeiiith- Oh, hey Hunk- ARE THOSE COOKIES?”


	12. Historical

Keith’s morning starts early and it goes well into the night. He gets up earlier than the chickens. Earlier than the boy that feeds the chickens. Earlier than the baker that lives in the middle of town. It’s always been this way and he doesn’t mind. It’s always dark when he rises. And it’s always dark when he finishes his day. 

First, he presses the Master’s clothes. Lays down the outfits for the day. The Master's breakfast jacket and his wine colored breeches for the morning. Then, his forest green doublet for the afternoon ride if he chooses to go and another option if he doesn't. Lastly, the heavily embroidered navy dinner jacket and cravat. He buffs each matching set of shoes to a high gleam and Keith smiles proudly as he sees his face in each, reflective tip.

He checks his pocket watch, one of the only things left to him by his father, something he’s managed to keep after all these years. It’s almost time for the sun to rise.

He sets the Master’s breakfast tray. Sausages and field eggs, a small, tanned round of bread. Coffee and a juice he squeezed himself. He slides a few berries into a bowl and adds a dollop of cream. No whines from the Master today.

Keith brings the tray to the dining hall and sets the table. Polishes each silver utensil until it shines.

He makes his way up the main staircase passing by the servants going about their day’s business. Each gives a small bow as he glides past, showing respect for the one who takes care of the house and the Master of the house.

Keith stands in front of Lance’s chamber door, straightens his vest with a tug and knocks three times, sharp and loud, waits a beat and enters the room.

Lance is still asleep, the blankets thrown off his body in the night. He’s on his stomach, his arms curled around an overly stuffed pillow. The long shift he wears rides high on his thighs and shows off miles of soft skin.

Keith makes his way across the room and draws the curtains.

Lance grunts and turns his face over, away from the sunbeam cutting across his face. “Ugh, Keith, iss too early,” he mumbles into this pillow, the same thing he’s been saying after all these years.

“Sire, the earlier you rise, the sooner you can finish your day and be at your leisure,” he counters, iterating the point that Lance can relax once his duties are fulfilled. “The day is short, just some correspondence, so we may do whatever you wish after lunch,” he offers.

Lance turns in the bed, the heavy cotton making a pleasant  _ ssshftt  _ sound as he shuffles against the sheets. “Can we go riding?”

Keith smiles and gives a small bow. “I’ll have the stable hand brush down the roans and have them ready,” he tells him.

Lance beams and throws his legs over the side of the bed. His clothes are off in an instant and Keith follows after him, gathering up the sleepwear and throwing it into the hamper. Lance moves into the basin under the mirror and splashes cold water onto his face and rubs a sweet smelling lotion onto his skin. He comes to Keith smelling of roses.

Keith helps him dress. The high white socks, his breeches, the undershirt, blouse and vest. He kneels before Lance on one knee and braces as he helps Lance slip on his shoes, first the left, then the right. Lance’s hand on his shoulder is hot, fingers light, as it always is.

He stands and buttons Lance’s jacket up his waist, buttons the sleeves at his wrist, slides his hands up the linen and over the fine weaved brocade of the simple vest, walks behind Lance and runs his hands down his sharp shoulder blades and long back, smoothing out any wrinkles.

This part of his day, he cherishes the most. Being able to be close. To be able to touch. No other servant has been in Keith’s place, doesn’t know how to care for Lance the way he does. He’s been doing it for over half his life and Keith won't be letting go of this position any time soon.

“Would you like to invite Master Shirogane to accompany you on your afternoon ride?” Keith asks absently. They’ve ridden together before, in the past, Keith a quiet shadow trotting behind him on his own horse.

Lance hums, tugs at the cuff of his blouse to straighten it. “No,” he tells Keith, voice soft and fond. “I want to ride with you around the lake,”  he says quietly, their secret code. Keith pauses, hearing what Lance doesn't say.

_ I want you under me I want you over me I want it to be just us _

Keith nods behind him, takes a breath and takes a step forward, presses close to the other man. He snakes an arm around Lance’s middle, forcing him closer still.

Lance gasps and slots himself back against Keith. Lays his hands over the band of Keith’s arms around his waist. “I will bring a blanket,” Keith murmurs. “In case it gets cold,” he says in justification.

Lance nods. “In case it gets cold, yes, good planning,” Lance responds, voice a little higher, a little breathy. He turns his head a little, his lips brushing Keith’s cheek-

Keith gives him a squeeze and moves back, smoothing out Lance’s clothes one more time. Now, though, his touch is a little heavier, a little more intent in their purpose. Soon he’ll be removing his fine work but Keith is patient. He can wait until it’s time.

Lance clears his throat, runs his hands through his hair to try and settle himself. Keith looks at him, appraising. He steps forward once more, lifts his arm and gets his fingers tangled in that soft hair.

He pulls a little at the root, how he does when Lance is right there with him at the edge of the precipice, ready to fall together into oblivion. Watches as Lance’s eyes glaze over as it always always does when they do.

“Finish soon, sire, so we may go riding together,” he asks of him, his own, subtle command, the only time he can use it. “We can take our time,” he suggests, “Rest at our leisure.”

Lance’s eye flutter closed, his breath leaving out of his mouth in a sweet puff.

Keith releases him. Curls his mouth into a smile as Lance stumbles without his grip. “Come, sire, let us start the day,” he tells Lance. “There are berries and cream waiting for you at breakfast.”


	13. Role Reversal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA Black Paladin Lance

There's a knock on Lance's door. It's quiet, almost as if the person behind it thinks he won't answer if he doesn't hear it, but he does and he says, "Yeah?"

The door slides open and Keith's standing on the threshold, his elbow in one hand and Lance has never seen him looks so unsure of himself.

"Hey," Keith says and it's without his usual heat, without the stinging bite of his ire. Lance immediately softens.

"Yeah, man, what's up?"

Keith takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly through his nose. "I just wanted to talk with you because, well, because I've been worrying about something."

And Lance feels all the hairs on his arm stand up. This is it, this is where he tells Keith- "Must really be bothering you if you're coming to talk to me," he says and stupid stupid stupid mouth.

"Well, I mean, you're the leader now, right?"

Lance looks Keith over. Keith’s not upset about that. He's upset about something else. The Black Lion chose Lance as her pilot and Keith never wanted it in the first place. "I guess, for now, until Shiro gets his feet back under him," he says as he looks at Keith intently, trying to gauge his emotions.

"Well, when Shiro gets back, you're going to pilot Blue again, right? I think Allura should be in Red. Or you, even. Either of you are more than capable and with the Blades, I can-"

"No," Lance says immediately, lashing out and grabbing at Keith's shoulder hard. He brings up his other hand and squeezes again, both at the same time, just as hard. "No, I need you in the Red Lion, Keith."

"The best thing I can do for the team is step asi-"

"What are you talking about? That's not what's best for the team!" And, a little selfishly, he admits to himself,  _ That's not what's best for me. _

"Keith, you're the right hand of Voltron, my right hand. I need that strength." _ I need you. _ "You see things that I don't and you're quick on your feet with ideas.”  _ I’d be lost without you. _

Keith blinks at him, his eyes round and little shiny.

"You're smart, and funny, and even though you have no idea how a chant works, we're working on it right?" And  _ María _ , why does this sound like a love confession...

"I know you want to know about your heritage, and I'm not saying to not go out seeking answers, but once we win this war, you'll have all the time in the universe- hell, I'll even come with you," he says in a rush and what why is he saying these things... "Sorry, this is all over the place," he mumbles, hanging his head between his outstretched arms.

Keith's hands come up and put themselves over Lance's knuckles.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," he says softly and oh- Lance lifts his head up.

"Oh, alright, uhm," he bites his lip, drops his hands but Keith's are there to cradle them between them. "Listen, we're just, we didn't ask for this, right? But it's happening. We're in a war nobody wanted and we're the only ones that can pilot these crazy cat robots," he chuckles.

"Saying it out loud sounds really stupid," he continues, rubs his thumbs over the bones on the back of Keith's hand. "This is a war and you want your best soldiers on the front lines. And that's you," he tells Keith, finally looking up at him.

Keith has a strange look on his face. Half-glad, half-something else.

"Stop worrying, okay?" Lance tells him. "That's something for me, the Leader, to do, Black Paladin Lance,” he stands and puffs out his chest dramatically, announcing his grand title. Yeah, Black Paladin Lance has a nice ring to it.

Keith huffs out a laugh and it sounds good coming out of him. Lance wants to make him do it more. Keith squeezes at his hands, still in his hold.

“Lance,” he says quietly. He sounds like he’s on the precipice so Lance doesn’t say anything. Just lets Keith gather his words. “Lance, you’re doing great,” he pauses, “As the Black Paladin. I don’t think I could ever do it was well as you’re doing right now,” he says, addressing their feet. “The Lions, they’re never wrong when they choose,” he tells him. “You were the right choice.”

Lance feels his heartbeat start to pick up and his neck heat. He looks down at their joined hands. He doesn't know what to say, what do you even say? and god, his palms are sweaty- he wants a black hole to open up and swallow him whole-

Keith squeezes his hands and pulls him out of his panic spiral, rubs his knuckles with his thumbs, before letting go. “You always know the right thing to say, Lance, so, thanks.”

Lance looks up and sees the endless galaxy of Keith’s eyes, dark and bright in turns. He gives him a small smile and, in a rush, before his confidence leaves him, he surges forward and slings an arm around Keith’s neck, pulling him close.

He gets a full whiff from the crown of Keith’s head, heat and cloves, and has the long, lean line of Keith's body pressed along his side. Lance selfishly pulls him closer still, reveling in their nearness for a moment and jerks Keith forward.

“Come on, Samurai, there’s a cake that Hunk’s baking that has our names written all over it,” he says gleefully. It’s chocolate and he’s been taste testing for weeks and he knows that it’s Keith’s favorite. He didn't try different combinations of weird space ingredients for nothing.

He glances over at Keith who has on a smile of his own, soft and secret and he would give anything to know what he's thinking to get him to look like that.

Yeah, whatever happens, they’ll get through it together. They are, after all, a really good team.


	14. Disney (con't of Internet Friends)

Keith checks his watch for the umpteenth time and Shiro just stands next to him and chuckles. 

"He'll be here," he says and clutches the back of his neck to try and bolster him. Keith pushes his arm away and Shiro laughs again.

"Do I look alright?"

"Oh. My god," Pidge says at his elbow. She flew down from Colorado and is staying with Matt for a week while Shiro and Keith are visiting. Jokes on her. He' going to be-

"Lance!" And Keith pulls attention away from the top of Pidge's head as she shouts and raises her arm to wave at him.

Keith's heart starts to pound in his chest as he jerks his eyes up and immediately lock with a crystalline blue that stare back and really he only has himself to blame thinking that this, of all things, was a good idea.

He distantly registers that Shiro and Pidge are walking up to Lance and Hunk and shaking their hands, all smiles and hellos and he needs to go too before it gets really really weird.

He holds out his hand for Hunk-  _ You came down too? Yeah, the drive from South Carolina isn't too bad, Lance is putting me up while I'm here _ and at the mention of Lance's name he glances to the side, meets Lance's gaze, cuts away,  _ Yeah, we got a Bn'B around here, it's only a fifteen minute drive, Oh, nice how is it? _ And Shiro cuts in  _ It's great, it's around a lot of different restaurants and it's been literal years since I've had American food _ and he's giving Keith this look-

And Keith finally turns to Lance.

"Hi," he says.

"Hey," Lance responds and really- fuck, this is the worst idea he's ever had. "Good flight?"

Keith scoffs. "Yeah, I told you when we landed," and he shoves his hands in his pockets, all of a sudden aware that he doesn't know what to do with them.

"Yeah, true. How's the place you're staying at?" he asks, putting his hands in his own pockets.

"It's nice," and god god god shoot him in the head right now, "We can go and hang out there after?"

Lance ducks his head, rocks on the back on his heels. "Yeah, that sounds great. The drive to my brother's house is like 3 hours from here," he huffs out a laugh. "Some r and r after a day of r and r."

"Jesus christ," Pidge says and Keith turns to her with a scathing look. "It's like watching a train wreck," she says, turning on her heel towards the entrance. She whips out a small black card. “Come on, losers, I got the gold,” she says and they have no choice but to follow her. Pidge flashes the card at one of the guards standing in front of door off to the side and he gives her a curt bow. She jerks her thumb at the rest of them and the guard looks up as he pulls out three black wrist bands and snaps them on.

“Please enjoy your stay,” he says in a gruff voice and steps aside as he opens the door.

They pass through the small portcullis and emerge on the other side and the first thing Keith sees is the Cinderella Castle and almost a billion children.

“Come on Hunk, you said you’re good with games, they’re over here, and the Safari,” she says as she drags him along. “Shiro, you too. They think I’m a kid all the time so I need an adult with me for less hassle,” she grabs his other arm.

She turns back to Keith. “Those bands get you free stuff and you can jump the lines to most attractions but at least go through the fast pass lines,” she tells him in a rush and soon, she’s pulling his two other friends away like they weigh nothing.

Keith stands there looking at Pidge’s after image.

Lance bursts out laughing. “Okay, well then,” he says as he pulls out his phone, looking at Top 5 Attractions at Disney World. “Let’s go to all the big ones first, and I don’t know about you but I’m already starting to feel sweaty, so Splash Mountain?”

Keith nods along, snagging a map of the park before they start meandering around. “Not right now though,” he says absently. “I’m just going to feel humid all day,” and he thinks of the horror of wet pants and shudders at the thought.

Lance laughs again, and Keith looks up. He’s standing next to a mascot that has a tray full of Mickey and Minnie Mouse ears and he flashes his band. He plucks one headband from the tray and motions to Keith.

The big head swivels in his direction, must see his own black band and offers up the tray. Keith scowls at Lance and he just throws his head back and laughs again.

Keith’s eyes swallow up the sight of Lance's smooth, caramel-colored throat and he feels that everyone in this damn theme park is looking at and making fun of him. Even the mascot gives him a thumbs up with a gloved hand. Christ.

“Here,” Lance says, coming back from his laughter. He puts the Mickey ears on and comes at Keith with the Minnie ears. “There,” he stands next to Keith and holds up his phone. The camera is open and the Cinderella Castle is in the background. Keith looks like he’s constipated.

“Come on, man, commemorate with me,” he says. Keith looks at the camera, schools his face and forces a smile.

Lance laughs again, this time slinging an arm around Keith and smashing their cheeks together. Caught off guard, Keith’s face heats without his permission and that’s when Lance presses the shutter button on the screen to take the shot.

“Don’t post that!” he says, but too late, the phone in his pocket vibrates as he’s notified that he’s been tagged in something. Keith sighs as he checks and soon his phone is blowing up with messages from all his friends that’ve seen it.

There's a smirk emoji from Shiro and he wants to break his phone in embarrassment.

“Come on, grouchy, let’s go have some fun,” Lance says, wrapping his slender fingers around his wrist, pulling him along.

And, Keith, never one to say no to Lance, goes with him.


	15. Soulmates

When Keith looks at Lance, he knows. 

It’s in the way he moves, in the way he speaks. The face might not always be the same, but the eyes are: a clear, cut crystalline blue. It’s his eyes that always catch Keith off guard, the first time they re-meet. They arrest him, captures him and keeps him as a willing prisoner.

And, Keith thinks fondly, his soul is always the same, warm and confident, a little shy when Keith really turns on the charm, but always answering in its eagerness.

He feels it.

 

Every time. 

He doesn’t know if Lance knows, if he feels the same thing running between them in the way Keith does, but Keith thinks he must for them to always meet in the middle the way they do. If Lance does, he never mentions it to Keith. But it’s fine. As long as they come together, Keith will keep quiet.

Keith looks up from his book, an Altean text found in Kolivan’s old library. He sees Lance tending the flowers around the small stone epitaph he keeps on his farm in remembrance of Allura. The breeze is warm and it ruffles the collar of his jacket.

It gets easier for the both of them, everyday, of her being gone. Keith knows better than anyone how soft Lance’s heart is, how he gives and gives. How deep his love runs. How deep that hurt goes. All Keith can do is stand sentinel and protect Lance as he mends.

At first, Keith was confused as to why Allura’s place next to Lance unsettled him, but she made him happy and she made him smile and really, what more could anyone ask for? but then, as she left- Keith saw it, how Lance’s eyes sparkled, how broken he looked.

How Keith wanted to take him away from his sorrow.

Something cracked and mended inside of Keith in the span of a heartbeat and he thought,  _ oh, so this is what love is. _ And, quietly, on little cat feet,  _ let this not be the end. _

Lance runs his hand over the stone, the sound of his skin sweeping against the rough texture a soft cadence.

He smiles when he looks up and locks eyes with Keith, makes his way over. He has a long gait and it takes him no time at all to cross the yard and take a seat next to him. “Hey, Samurai.”

“Hey, Sharpshooter,” even though it’s been over a year since they held their bayards last.

Lance leans into his side and Keith braces his shoulder, taking his weight easily.

The silence stretches before them, common and soothing. They don’t need to say anything to be comfortable. Keith flexes his thigh and starts the porch swing into motion, gently rocking them. The wood creaks softly as it bears the movement.

“I remember, sitting like this, once, a long time ago,” Lance says suddenly, breaking the quiet with his low voice. “With you.”

“It was sunset and the sky was red.”

“There were gardenias instead of juniberries.”

“You had a dress on.”

“Oh my god, Keith,” he chokes on a started laugh. He catches his breath. “We always find each other,” he says. “You’re always there when I need it, teaching me something about myself, challenging me when I need it,” and then, sadly, guilt coloring his words, “I’m sorry about Allura.”

Keith turns to Lance. “Don’t apologize for that. Ever. You needed her, too.” Keith takes his hand, laces their fingers together and squeezes tight, the bones in Lance’s hand shift under the pressure.

Lance’s palm is rough and calloused from working on the farm. They’re different from when he used to hold his sniper rifle, when he used to hold a sword, when he used to tie ropes on a ship. But it’s always warm and it fits the way it always does when they do this. “I will never be upset at you for taking the things that you need.”

Lance presses the ball of his cheek into Keith’s shoulder, hiding his face. He heaves out a sigh. “Thanks, man,” he says. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything you want,” Keith tells him.

Lance sighs again, slumps against him, squeezes his hand back.

“You,” he says. “Just you.”

Keith sees their lives, all their lives, stretching before them like a road, well worn, rough in some spots like how some roads wont to do- but an everflowing unbroken ribbon into infinity.

And, always, Lance, right beside him, wherever time will take them.


	16. College (con't. of Disney)

It’s a little after the sun sets that they pile into the rented house and kick off their shoes. Keith feels utterly drained from the sun and the twenty miles he probably walked all day. They went on every ride, and a few twice, ate their body weight in nachos and drank almost fifty gallons of water. Keith feels wrung out.

Lance has all the stuff he “bought” dumped and emptied on Keith’s bed and is going through them, sorting out what he’s going to give to whom when get goes back home.

“Why are you doing this  _ here _ ,” Keith grouses as he towels his hair dry.

“Because Pidge and Hunk made the living room a war zone with all their stuff,” he says absently. His hair is a fluffy mess from his own shower and all Keith wants to do is run through his hair and hug him close, find out what his shampoo smells like.

He opens the patio door and steps out onto the balcony, the smell of salt from the surrounding beaches wafting through the air even at this distance. The breeze is warm and heavy and Keith takes a deep breath. He’ll have to get used to this humidity once he-

“Yo,” Lance says as he comes and stands by him.

“Got everything sorted?” Keith asks absently.

Lance hums in assent. “Today was fun. I’m tired as hell and probably gonna conk out here in a few minutes but I just wanted to tell you before I left tomorrow,” he says quietly, murmurs it, really, his voice low and close in the evening air.

“It was,” he agrees lamely.

“When’s your flight out?” Lance asks on the tail end of a yawn. It stretches his cheeks out and Keith can see the cherry red insides of his mouth and his white teeth.

“Saturday at 3,” he tells Lance. He presses his shoulder to Lance’s, just a little, indulging a little, just in case his next words turns things to shit. “Hey,” he says.

“Yeah?” he answers.

“What are you doing for college?” he asks, presses a little harder with his shoulder, presses so that their arms are flush together.

“Dunno yet,” Lance says and he looks at Keith questioningly.

He continues, “I applied for some universities on the west coast, mostly in Cali, but haven’t heard back yet,” is all he says. Bless Lance. He knows when not to push, knows that Keith needs some space to talk it out sometimes.

“Do you think long distance relationships are hard?” and fuck fuck what is he doing. You don’t lead with something like this…

Lance hums, shuffles his feet. Lifts his arm and brings Keith into the fold of his body. His hand is warm and it starts rubbing up and down his opposite arm. Keith is shocked to find that his body his trembling a little.

“You cold?” Lance asks.

Keith nods because he doesn’t really want to tell him the real reason- because they’re close, that he’s nervous, he’s about to tell Lance that-

Lance rubs his back and sides a little more intently to heat his skin up. “I don’t think they are, no,” he says, answering Keith’s question. “It’s just how hard you want to try.” He slows his hand and rubs circles into the center of Keith’s back, grounding. Sliding down the curl of his spine.

“And it’s not hard to keep in touch or see each other these days,” he chuckles. “I mean, look at you and me. You live halfway across the globe and we talk every day and we finally got to meet,” he says excited, fond, shaking Keith a little. “I mean, yeah, time zones are a thing and distance is just construct, but…” and his voice is warm and inviting and please please let him be reading this right-

“I’m going to come study in the States,” he blurts out, cutting Lance off.

Lance’s hand stills on his back.

“Shiro’s tenure is coming up and I’ve already graduated and there’s a  aeronautical  program that feeds into NASA and Shiro says that it’s a good opportunity ‘cause I got the scholarship-”

“You got it?” Lance asks suddenly and spinning him around and Keith is face to face with Lance’s bright, ecstatic eyes and all he can do is nod. “Dude! ‘Grats, holy shit! That’s amazing. I told you that you’d get it. Who was right!”

And Lance is pulling him in, squeezing the little air he had in his lungs out and when Keith takes a breath in all he can smell is Lance Lance Lance the sun and salt and the creamy vanilla of the soap he used and Keith tucks his face into the curve of his neck.

He lifts his arms and twists his hands weakly into the hem of Lance’s shirt. Holds on. But he doesn't really  need to because Lance isn’t letting him go. Lance starts rotating to and fro and soon Keith is rocking with him. “What’s the school?” he asks into Keith’s ear.

Keith feels his face flush. “It’s CalTech,” he mumbles.

“Holy christ on his throne,” Lance swears. “Good job, man, really. Holy hell,” and he squeezes Keith harder.

“I,” Keith stutters, forces their bodies still, halts the movement of their rocking. “I wanted to be closer to you, too,” he says and there there he’s said it.  Not the whole thing about school, though. Not about leaving Japan. Just the simple statement that he wanted to be next to Lance, however closer he could get. “I wanted,” he swallows around the nervous lump in his throat and he can’t get the rest of his thoughts out. “I wanted to tell you, that I-”

Lance suddenly squeezes him, hard like a vice, his arms two hot bands around his middle, lifts him off his feet, startling him. “Wha-”

“Shut up,” he says and Keith’s teeth click as he closes his mouth. “Shut up, shut up, shut up. Uuugh, you’re ruining my confession,” he spins Keith around, taking his weight easily as he turns. “I was going to tell you that I wanted to try a long distance relationship ‘cause you brought it up and I thought here’s my chance and then you drop that bomb of coming back and then another bomb right on top of my shocked heart- wait,” he says, setting Keith down. “Wait, you meant, I didn’t fuck this up right? You meant ‘close to me’ as in ‘close to me’ like  _ that  _ right? Tell me I didn’t just read all of that wrong ‘cause, I mean, I’ve been throwing out signals, and I think you were catching them and throwing some out, too, and-”

Keith lunges forward and presses his mouth, hard and desperate, to Lance’s. It’s ungraceful and rushed and he bangs their teeth into their lips and it hurts a little but he just needs to get Lance to just stop talking-

Lance angles his head, fists the hair at the base of Keith’s neck to readjust their faces and that’s so much better- they’re really kissing and air is really going to be a problem here because he just wants to keep doing this-

Lance leans away a little, catching his breath and Keith sighs out a  _ yes, yes close like that _ and he’s pressing forward again, pecking Lance’s mouth, twining his arms around his back, over and behind his neck to pull him impossibly close,  _ Lance Lance I wanted to see you so bad touch you so bad  _ and Lance is backing him into the wall, the stucco warm and rough against his shoulder blades but that doesn't matter. It. Doesn't. Matter because all he can focus on is the sweetness of Lance’s mouth over him.

Lance’s body is broad and warm and he smells like ice cream on the beach and Keith needs to slow down with his hunger because a familiar heat is pooling in his gut and threatening to move lower and no please don’t ruin this- I still need to hear it-

Lance pulls away, seeming a little reluctant, and Keith chases after his mouth. Lance smirks, pecking his lips, speaking, “All those confessions you turned down?”

Keith feels his face immediately heat, but, like a cat sensing trapped prey, Lance grins, sneaks his thigh between both of Keith’s and startles the words out of him as he shoves up and _oh_ , “Yes, you, it was always you,” a confession of his own and he tucks his face into Lance’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, lifting a hand between them and tipping Keith’s face up towards his with a knuckle under his chin. “This isn’t going to change things, okay? We still can catch a plane and meet and-”

Lance’s phone vibrates in his pocket, four times, in quick succession. And then it starts the insistent ringing of a phone call. He pulls it out of his pocket and looks at the screen. Keith sees a flash of  _ 911 _ in one of the texts and his heart thuds in his chest as he sees Lance’s eyes go wide.

“Mam á ? Qu é pa- slow down- mam á-  _ what?! _ ” and Keith hears through the other line as Lance goes quiet a rapid string of words in Spanish, shrill and excited and ending with a loud cheer and Lance looks up to Keith with round eyes, the ocean at sunset, stars coming out, pulling him into its tide-

“I got accepted into all of them.”


	17. ThunderPike

Pike looks down from his perch. The branch he crouches on creaks a little but the wind is blowing so the rest of the tree creaks with him. He's looking down at a lonely traveler and his dog, well he thinks it's a dog. It  _ looks _ like a dog, but it’s big and blue with golden eyes and you know what? The dog doesn't matter.

All that matters is how the traveler is slowly starting to bed down for the night.

Pike can wait, he's waited longer in worse conditions for other marks. This one is going to be easy. The stealth potion he drank an hour ago won't wear off any time soon. He brewed it himself so he knows its potency.

He's been following this guy for days, watching the things he collects as loot off the monsters he slaughters. He does it, efficiently and... brutally and Pike doesn't want to be caught at the business end of that greataxe.

He can tell, even from this distance, how sharp it is as it gleams in the low light of the campfire. And, he should know, too. He’s seen the guy sharpen it after every battle, gently but surely, methodically grinding the edge.

The man sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose and digs his fingers into the well of his eyes. He lets out a sharp whistle and the big blue dog perks its ears up and instantly flashes bright and disappears-

 

_ Now what a minute, you can’t just do that, Keith- _

_ Sure, why not, he’s my pet. I rolled to see if you’d get the jump on us. _

_ Coran! He can’t do that! _

_ Keith did beat your stealth check so he knows you’re there, so he technically can. _

 

And then materializes behind him, the tree branch cracking ominously, but the super freaky vanishing and reappearing dog bites at his collar and disappears again, taking Pike with him. He pops back into existence right at the guy’s feet. There’s a heavy paw at the center of his back holding him down and Pike squirms but to no avail. 

“Did you think you could sneak up on me, little thief?”

“Who’re you callin’ little,” Pike huffs out as the dog/wolf/magic trick presses a little harder on his spine, pressing his air out. “Let me up and we’ll see who’s little,” he threatens.

“I could kill you,” the man says and he uses the hard toe of his boot to tip Pike’s face up. “But I want to know who sent you to follow me,” he says with a creak of leather as he leans over. Pike smells pine and the ash from the campfire all over this guy with his sensitive nose. The underlying smell of copper and grit.

There’s a hand in his hair, long fingers threading through, brushing over the fur of one of his ears, tries to grip hard at the roots. Pike bites back a grunt and twists his head out of it. “No one,” he bites.

The man above him hums, leans back, sliding the pads of his fingers against his scalp, down the side of his face.

Pike’s ears twitch forward at the snap of a log in the fire and he lets out a little sigh. “Really, no one,” he grunts. “I just wanted to steal your stuff,” and he doesn’t know why he’s being so honest-

 

_ Coran!  _

_ He won the roll, my boy. By a lot actually. _

_ I’m proficient at intimidation. _

 

The man shifts around and pulls a thick, glittering necklace from under the heavy fur mantle he wears. It’s gold and studded with rubies the color of blood. Pike’s eyes grow wide and he swallows. The man lays the necklace over the side of the log he sits on. 

He leans to one side and rummages around in a small pouch tied to his waist, pulls out a fist and opens it, showing off a handful of heavy stoned rings. He tips his hand and they fall to his feet in a cascade, hitting the dirt with quiet thumps. Pike’s eyes drink in the sight hungrily.

The stranger tilts his head. “Not these?” he asks and it doesn't really sound like a question. Pike’s face flushes.

He leans again and from another pouch he holds in his hand a stack of big gold coins. He tosses him up and down in his palm  _ clink clink clink  _ and in between, Pike can see the sparkle of a few diamonds.

The man hums, returns the money to his pouch. He tilts his head and slowly pushes back his sleeve. A delicate silver band around his wrist reflects the fire dully. Pike swallows, turns his face away.

 

_ Lance remembers that bracelet around another, smaller wrist, almost threatening to slip off a child’s chubby hand- remembers a bright voice like little bells saying tío- _

 

“You only started following me after I got this,” the man says softly, interrupting his thoughts.

“No, I was going to steal it all,” he defends.

The man whistles again, a different pitch and the heavy paw moves itself from his back. Pike pushes with his arms and sits up, no doubt in his mind that he would get pinned down again if he made any untoward movement.

“Listen, little thief-“

“Pike,” Pike cuts in. 

The man nods. “Pike,” he says, almost to himself, rolling his name around in his mouth, testing it out. “I’ll return this bracelet to you if you help me with something,” he offers.

Pike’s ears perk up. “What, like a job?”

The man nods, stretches out his hand when the big dog comes to sit next to him. He pets the beast calmly, stroking between the ears and Pike’s own tingle in jealousy. It’s been a long time since he allowed anyone to touch him there, and this stranger did- gently, then a little roughly, but it wasn’t all that bad-

“I’m making my way to a compound just north of here,” he explains. “There’s some information I’d like to acquire but the place, it’s heavily guarded.”

Pike’s tail twitches in anticipation.

“I can get in the front door easily,” and he motions to his great axe. “But, I need someone to get the scroll while I deal with the soldiers,” he states simply. The man’s eyes are locked onto him and Pike feels his neck heat. His eyes are dark, the fire dancing over them in twisting pushes and pulls.

“That’s it?” He asks.

“That’s it,” he agrees.

Pike can feel his tail sway back and forth as he deliberates. There’s no real reason not to, he thinks. And besides, he knows of the base this man is talking about. There’s rumored to be a horde of information there and Pike could use this as an opportunity. He could sell it for a lot of money. Pike looks at the man. He's almost as tall as him, broad in the shoulders and thick in the neck.

He has a long scar running up the right side of his face. The skin is dark, shiny, almost like a burn mark.

He's seen him fight, speed and brute strength when he needs it. The greataxe is sign enough. He can at least rest assured that no guards would get past this guy.

“Hey,” he says, “What’s your name?”

The man smiles, strokes down his beast’s neck and Pike feels a shiver travel down his own. “My name is Thunderstorm Darkness of the Clan Marmora,” and he extends his hand. Pike reaches out his own hand and takes the proffered one. “Well met, Pike.”


	18. Celebrity

Lance’s little music shop sits on the corner of Dean and Carolina Avenue. He loves his music shop. It was his papa’s before he passed away. Lance’s penchant for singing his lungs out in the tub when he was small, his papa’s big hand rubbing soap through his hair gently as he sang along made him feel warm and loved and when his papa took him to The Blue Moon and showed him all the CD’s and cassette tapes and vinyl, Lance fell a little bit in love. 

He spent his days after school helping in his papa’s store, absorbing like a sponge the classics and the jazz and the new wave synth and house. Learning and loving every song that passed through the old, tinny speakers.

There are times, though, that he dislikes. He doesn’t hate it, no. Never hates his store with the rusty bell that still miraculously tinkles, heralding a customer. Never hates the way the wood gleams in the afternoon sun. Never could hate the walls that's  seen him grow up.

No, he could never hate his store.

It's the people.

Lance knows that the customers that come through here are what jellies his crumpets but that doesn’t mean he has to  _ like _ them, like them. And he likes most of them, really. Can get it on with them like a house on fire. But some of them...

He’ll tolerate them.

Most of the time when he “dislikes” his customers, it’s hipster kids coming in here and telling him about some underground indie band that’ll change his life, they swear, and why doesn’t he stock some super rare EP album by the dozens? You're a music store, get some music in, dude.

Well, it's probably because a) it  _ is _ super rare and b) probably costs way more than barista Joey can afford on his meager minimum wage job, serving up frothy lattes with zero caffeine and too much sugar.

He can order the album, no problem. He knows a guy that knows a guy and not in the shady, five-finger discount way, either. His papa was connected and well-respected and when he went to that big jukebox in the sky, Lance inherited those connections. He can hold his own, too, so his papa’s friends became his friends and they meet every so often to share drinks.

He’s not some snot-nosed brat living off his parent’s laurels. He can argue Jimi Hendrix versus Bob Dylan versus Beyonce and not even get flustered-

But this guy… Man, this guy is pushing all his buttons.

It doesn’t help that this guy is attractive. Smooth skin with bright violet eyes and lovely cupid’s bow- but he has a mullet, granted his hair looks clean and silky and long enough to pull on, but that’s not the point! It’s a mullet- and he has finger less gloves! Who even-  _ no, no, Keith, it's out of style- I don't care if Cosmo says punk is in, that look is definitely out- _

This guy is a walking Hot Topic disaster and in all the years that he’s been running this store he’s never met anyone more infuriating.

He’s not some punk off the street either. He has money. He actually paid upfront for that super rare EP by that one artist and Lance felt that cash burn a hole through his register for days until he made the deposit at the bank. And he’s not some trust fund baby or someone’s spoiled brat that wants to have things just to have them, no.

He can argue music with Lance, hash out history and controversy and all the genres under the sun, even the obscure ones. And, probably the worst of it is when he concedes when he’s beat, which is to say, he doesn't often. No. Keith's usually right. But he doesn’t gloat, like Lance does when he wins an argument. Instead, he gives Lance small smiles when his point gets across and Lance huffs at him when he has nothing else to say.

He stops by every few weeks and it’s become a thing for Lance to reserve a block of his time for him when he shows. He makes Pidge run the register and she’s even more snippy than him when dealing with people out of their depth, but she manages to hook in the fringe crowd with her taste in classical and lo-fi mixes so Lance really isn’t complaining.

It’s also become a thing that Keith brings coffee and sometimes pastries when they chat. They’re always from places from all over, Lance inspecting the name of the bakery and Googling it later.

Seattle, Honolulu, Atlanta, and one memorable quiche from this place in actual New York New York that Lance ranted about for weeks. He knew Keith was loaded, and for him to be able to hop from city to city he has to be a flight attendant or something because there’s no way-

He watches as Keith stiffens as a song comes on the speakers.

He’s had the Spotify on Discovery for the past couple of days and he’s found a lot of new artists, one in particular that caught his attention.

There’s no real information out there about him and boy has Lance tried. Wikipedia shows only his stylized name, a backwards K- fucking presumptuous, but his music is rhythmic, lyrics that you have to read between the lines of. Heavy bass and drums. No lead guitar. In spite of that, they have a huge fan base and following.

Lance has heard of this dual configuration before and it’s a breath of fresh air to see more bands utilizing this combo. There’s something to be said about a band that can be engaging with just vocals and bass.

“You alright, dude?” Lance asks around a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah,” Keith says and his eyes shift around nervously about the store.

There’s not many people here, Pidge in the front, an old granny browsing through some Elvis albums and some middle school kids in the back sampling some anime soundtracks. “Uh, I didn’t know Spotify put this out,” he says shyly, the first that Lance has ever heard.

“Yeah, it’s been topping the chart for over a week now,” he says with a quirked eyebrow.

“Mm,” Keith hums. He shifts on his feet, rubbing his forefinger against his thumb, his nervous gesture. “What do you, uh, think of the music?” he asks, eyes flicking up to Lance’s.

“Dude! This guy is really good. Up and coming and he’s going to go places. With just the bass and the drums? I can’t believe they pull it off, but they do. The vocalist has a really nice voice, too,” Lance gushes. He loves discovering new music and sharing it with his fri- other music enthusiasts.

“Uh, cool,” Keith says, his face a bit pink.

“You okay?” Lance asks again. And then, realization. “Dude, do you have a crush on this guy?”

Keith snaps his head up, two rosy spots high on his cheeks. “What? No!” He half shouts and Pidge looks over to them, suddenly keen.

“Aww, you do,” Lance croons. “That’s cute,” he teases.

Pidge wanders over to them, hands behind her back, hunched to the side as she looks  at Keith’s ducked face. She stands next to Lance, her grin wide as she stands straight and she appraises Keith.

She turns to Lance, dismisses his sputtering after her  _ you’re an idiot _ , before turning away and shuffling back to her seat. She helps the old lady with her purchase and Lance can see from here that she went with the vinyl of The Four Aces. He smiles at her choice.

Keith huffs and Lance turns back to look at him. He has his hand over a piece of paper on the counter top and Lance’s heart judders in his chest. Is he- is Keith giving him his number?

“Listen,” Keith says suddenly, almost a bark, pulling Lance out of his shock. “Come or don't,” He says, lifts his hand quickly and reveals two tickets. “I’ll be back next week for that album, regardless,” he tells Lance without looking at him and hastily picks up his stuff and dashes out of the store before Lance can even grasp what’s going on.

Lance looks down at the ticket, his eyes growing wide.

 

 


	19. Childhood Friends

Keith is turning 63 today. 

We see as he wakes up, and rolls over. As he sits up he reaches out, brushes back Lance's bangs from his forehead. He sits there for a moment just looking at his husband as we look at him. Lance is only a few years younger than him, but he'll be turning soon, too, and they'll be that much closer.

Keith slips from the bed and pulls the heavy blanket over Lance's shoulder. He leans down and presses his mouth to Lance's temple as he mumbles and smacks his lips in his sleep. We see the warm, fond smile ease onto Keith's face as he decides to let him sleep a little longer.

Keith pads into the kitchen, and starts the coffee. It's an old, ancient thing, like him, and it churns out the hot water in spits and sputters. It's been with them a long time and Keith knows its temperament, shakes it a little when it coughs the way it does when the water doesn't go down right. He pats the side of the coffee maker as it starts to flow regularly again.

The smell of coffee is strong, a dark roast, and it fills the kitchen air with its aroma.

Keith goes to the refrigerator, opens the door, his eyes passing over the numerous pictures under colorful magnets. They're something that's just there, in-between take out menus and grocery list reminders and the one, lone lottery ticket that Lance refuses to scratch. Keith doesn't see the pictures, not in an active way.

Not in the way we do.

The pictures have been accumulating for years, since Keith and Lance have moved from a shitty dorm room to a barely better furnished apartment to finally a house. It's all of their years taken from vacations and Christmas parties, of their kids, all grown, with kids of their own. All of them look happy. All of them are happy.

We see a timeline, straight as an arrow, going back. Two graduations, teens in formal wear for Homecoming and Prom. A big dog takes up the foreground of a picture at the beach. Their kids- the first day of school. Birthday parties with balloons and streamers and that spooky, automated mouse from Chuck-E-Cheese.

Of them standing outside of their house, coming home for the first time, their kids shyly looking at the camera and smiling.

Their entire lives.

There's the sound of sizzling, bacon in the pan, and a sleepy yawn.

“‘morning,” Lance mumbles as he presses to Keith's back, wraps his arms around his middle. He tucks his face into the curve of Keith's neck and breathes there for a moment, still waking up.

“Pour me coffee,” Keith says as he turns the bacon. Lance presses a kiss to his skin and steps back. The two of them putter around the kitchen, dancing comfortably around each from years of quiet practice.

Lance is buttering the English muffins as Keith slides eggs onto two plates. They sit at the little nook in the kitchen, the sun filtering in through the glass. It lights up the sides of their faces, worn at the eyes from smiling so often. We listen as they talk about everything. About nothing. About Pidge's award ceremony and Hunk's humble mechanic’s shop. About what time Shiro is coming over tonight  _ I don't know Lance, whenever You have to know, Keith, I still have to clear out the guest room- _

Kosmo comes ambling in, his fur black as ever but with grey at the snout. He presses his nose to Keith's thigh and he slips him a sliver of bacon. His big tail wags and he ambles back out.

They clear the dishes and start their day.

We see them vacuum and throw trash out, see them share kisses. Lance disappears for an hour and comes back bearing lunch. Turkey on rye with alfalfa sprouts, Doritos and sweet tea. Keith's favorites.

They sit on the rug in the living room, kicking at each other as they eat.  _ You’re getting crumbs everywhere It’s fine I’ll vacuum it up No, Kosmo that’s not for you don’t eat that _ and by the time three o’clock rolls around they’re no closer to having the house clean that they did this morning.

There’s the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and Kosmo gets up, shuffling in his old doggy way and waits at the back door, his tail swishing back and forth. We see Shiro and Curtis and Adam at the door, all jostling each other to get it open.

There’s another car, doors slamming and there’s Pidge and Matt, Allura in tow. She walks with a cane, now, but she still looks regal as ever. Coran arrives with Hunk and they pull boxes of baked goods out of the trunk, Lance conferring quietly with Hunk when he thinks Keith isn’t looking.

Krolia rolls in on her motorcycle and we see as she secretly passes Lance a small wrapped box. He takes it gingerly with a grateful smile on his face. Their kids are last to arrive with their children running in the yard screaming  _ abuelo! abuelo! _ and the house groans and expands with the weight of family as they pile inside.

They let the day turn on, eating a huge dinner and then cake- a conglomeration of sour berries layered inside a cream chantilly cake- another one of Keith’s favorites. Today is about him after all.

They gather and open gifts and Keith is grateful with every wrapped box he opens.

Kosmo comes up to him and puts his snout on his knee and Keith pets him absently. Kosmo's present, such as it is.

And then… then Lance shyly hands over his gift.

It’s the one Krolia gave him, the one we saw them secretly exchange and Keith takes it gingerly, reflecting Lance’s demure actions. Everyone watches Keith with a hushed breath and we can tell is something about this is special. Even the little ones are smiling hugely but are quiet.

He slides his finger under the wrapping, lifts the lid and he feels his cheeks heat and his vision turns blurry.

In the box in his lap is a heavy framed picture of him and Lance, when they were eight and six respectively. Lance has his arm thrown around Keith’s shoulders in the picture, hooking him in tight. They’re both missing several teeth and Keith remembers how that summer they pooled their money to buy a mountain of candy from the drugstore down the street.

Even back then, so small and in wonder of the brown boy that could speak another language and could climb the big tree in his backyard, that moved from the beach and into the empty house two doors down, Keith knew. That the boy with the sunny smile, whose father made amazing homemade peach ice cream and mother that had a beautiful singing voice, would share his secrets.

That the boy with a tender spot for animals and lying in the grass on hot summer nights, looking up at the stars-

Even then, Keith knew that he would keep Lance in his life. He just didn’t realize the extent of it.

But we know.

We know in the way all great love stories are born- or maybe just the simple ones. Ones that start with a scraped knee from falling and then a chubby hand offering help. How the two laugh and play and learn each other. How they grow together around one another. The problems and resolutions.

The soft, warm blossom of more-than-just-friends feelings.

Reciprocation in kind.

A lasting love for the ages.

We know.

Keith turned 63 today, surrounded by all that he loves.

His whole life is still ahead of him, and, like always, Lance is by his side like they were when they were eight and six respectively, arm thrown around his shoulders, hooking him in tight.


	20. Canon Divergence

Lance watches as they drag Takashi Shirogane into the room and strap him down to the table, watches as they do preliminary scans, completely ignoring the warnings that he's trying to tell him. 

"What are they doing? The guy's a legend and they're not even gonna listen to him?" And just the thought of it runs a shiver down his spine. Adults not listening to other adults? Man, and he's just a kid...

"We have to get him out," Pidge says, the decisive tone of his voice spurring him on.

Hunk cuts in, wringing his hands, "I hate to be the voice of reason here, always, but weren't we just watching on TV because there's no way to get past the guards?"

And, technically Hunk's right. But, where there's a will...

"That was before we were properly motivated. We just gotta think. Could we tunnel in?" and he leans over Pidge's shoulder, hoping that he'll get with it and pull up some schematics or something. He’s seen him hack just now, and with all this computer stuff, there’s not way that Pidge isn’t out here, decked to the gills.

"What we need is a distraction," Lance says right before there's a loud blast that comes from the direction of the compound. It shakes the air around them even at this distance. He whips his head around.

Hunk whimpers. “ Is that the aliens? Is that the aliens? Are they here? They got here so quick!”

Pidge butts in, pulling a pair of binoculars from his bag. “No, those explosions were a distraction,” he says and points, “For him. The Garrison's headed toward the blast, and he's sneaking in from the other side.”

Lance takes the binoculars from him, pulls it to his eyes. "No way! Oh, he's not gonna beat us in there! That guy is always trying to one up me!"

“Who is it?” Hunk asks, his curiosity winning over his panic for a moment.

“It’s Keith!” Lance shouts, already running towards the commotion. His blood is up. Rescue mission. Gonna save Takashi Shirogane. Even if Keith is there, he’s gonna make sure that he gets the credit.

"Are you sure?" Hunk asks him, already wary because he knows of Lance's dislike of Keith.

"Oh, I'd recognize that mullet anywhere," he says as he scrambles down the side of the hill.

The three of them sprint into the compound and run down the empty corridors. There's only one path and Lance sees up ahead Keith with Takashi Shirogane's arm thrown over his shoulder.

"Nope, no- no, no no. No, you don't. I'm saving Shiro," he says, stalking up to the two of them.

"What? Who- Lance?"

Lance stops dead. "You know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're the cargo pilot that never shut up," Keith says, hefting Shiro's weight higher onto his shoulder. "Always said you were going to beat me in the flight sim," he says with a smirk.

Lance grits his teeth. "Well, not a cargo pilot anymore. I'm fighter class now, thanks to you washing out," he huffs coming closer, still off-kilter at actually being remembered by the Garrison's Golden Boy. Keith looks good, even after all this time  _ Absence makes the heart grow fonder Shut up, brain, jesus rescue mission _ and he wonders where Keith’s been living since getting the boot.

"Well, congratulations, looks like you followed through," Keith tells him, and... he actually sounds sincere about it. "Here, help me with him," Keith says, nodding his head at Shiro, looking straight at Lance.

He nods and scrambles into action-  _ oh yeah, saving the day! _ and grabs Shiro's other arm, guides it behind his neck and jeeze louise is this guy heavy. Keith must be strong to be able to hold him up on his own and Lance flushes a little at the thought of how strong Keith actually is and, and-

Feels a little giddy.  _ Keith remembers me! _ pushes that thought aside.  _ Focus, McClain, you can gush about this later  _ and together, they pull Shiro from the building, getting on Keith’s (probably stolen) speeder and make their hasty getaway. 


	21. Leakira

Akira feels the sweat roll down the side of his neck as he quietly steps into the half-shadowed alley. He’s following the mark, a tall woman with a short trench coat and heels that’ll probably cut Akira’s throat open if he lets her get close.

She has the information he needs about the Galarian outpost, though, for Layla, who’ll pay them half her weight in solars if Akira can pull this off. 

He knows that the mark knows he’s following her, it was a planned meet after all, but in this city, no man takes any chances, and will almost ninety percent of the time betray or get betrayed. Akira prays that the tracker at the base of his neck is broadcasting loud and clear. The tingle along the surface of his skin lets him know that at least his armor-shield is in place.

The woman pivots around a corner and Akira hurries his steps. He pauses before he takes the turn, every hair on the back of his arms coming to attention. “Paladin,” she says, voice low and rough. “Your hand,” she commands, not requests. Akira offers his arm, hand, palm up. 

Something small and hard drops into his hand and he curls his fingers around it protectively. The In-net Trojan melts with his body heat and the information absorbs into his skin, the files that he needs getting stored into his neural network, ready for extraction to Layla.

“Your six,” a voice comes into his ear, and there’s the heavy sound of a body slamming into the wall, sliding down the rough surface. He looks to the roof across from him, doesn’t see what he knows is there, and draws his hyper-blade.

It glows red in the dark alley, bright and almost blinding but Akira’s enhanced eyes adjust quickly. His informant is long gone, sprinting off to deal with her own attackers and Akira couldn’t care less. He got what he needed and all he needs to do now is to get out. 

“There’s four more coming from the east,” the voice says again, even and low, and Akira takes a deep breath. “I got you, Samurai,” the voice says and it sends a chill down his spine. The sound of three more bodies hitting the ground echo in the damp alleyway.

The shadows on his left move strangely, a low-grade cloaking device, and Akira thrusts his sword arm out, his hyper-blade extending to its full length, slicing through the thin skin of his would-be attacker. 

Akira pulls his sword out and the body falls, still invisible save for the pool of black colored blood oozing onto the concrete.

“Two more from the north,” Leandro murmurs into his ear and Akira quickly finds the low hang of a fire escape ladder. He leaps, using the grit on his shoes to find purchase on the wall opposite and grasshoppers back and forth until he can pull on the ladder and yank. The metal hits the ground with a loud clang and Akira’s teeth rattle with it, but he keeps moving, climbs up the rungs and zig-zags up the fire escape.

He meets Leandro on the roof, rushes up and presses his mouth to his and they bolt, taking a running jump over the rooftops. Akira’s guidance system pinpoints his F-Speeder and lights up a path in front of him. He can hear the heavy footfalls of their assailants-

“The door!” And Leandro fires his meson rifle and blasts a small hole where the locking mechanism to the door in front of them is. Akira kicks in it and it bounces in its frame, almost rebounding in his face but he pushes it aside.

Leandro grabs at the handrail and swings over it, jumping the stairs and dropping like a stone. Akira follows right after, his boots absorbing the brunt of the impact, but he still feels his bones tremor.

They make it outside and his speeder is right there, the engine starting up with his proximity. He had  Hanare engineer him something that would respond to his biorhythms in case he needed a fast getaway and right now, the eighty-thousand solars was well worth the price. 

Akira throws his leg over the bike, the engine revving and the moment he feels Leandro’s lithe weight behind him, he guns it, whatever gravity left on this planet pulling his stomach behind him as they take off.

Leandro is whooping, standing on the mounted stirrups, wind in his hair and jacket.

Akira turns a little in his seat can see Leandro’s left eye glowing neon blue as the targeting system installed there shows him the straight and narrow shot. Leandro lifts his rifle and aims high, and Akira sees the hovercraft not even half a klick away spark and smoke as it veers off course as Leandro’s bullet hits true.

Akira takes the next left, merging onto the inner-highway, his speeder ramping up as he keeps up with the traffic.

Layla’s voice comes in his ear. “Head alpha sierra trine niner five,” she says. “Next exit,” she instructs.

“Roger,” and Akira eases into the far lane, ready to take the exit. He eases his speeder out of the flow of traffic, under the overpass and drives a little further until he pulls into the mechanics shop Hanare owns that acts as their front.

Akira dismounts first, the engine dying down to a low hum, the auxiliary lights still lighting the undercarriage before they, too, fade away. Leandro slots up behind him, tucks his nose into the hollow of his ear, inhaling deep. “So hot scalin’ that wall,” he sighs, pressing his front all along Akira’s back. “I could see your thighs flexin’ like a beast as you jumped up.”

His eye is still lit up, giving the space around them an eerie glow. Akira tilts his head back, resting it against the other’s shoulder, baring his neck. “You gonna get in-between them?”

“Crush me with ‘em,  _ mami, _ ” Leandro purrs, pressing his lips to the side of his neck.

Akira feels heat zap through his body, and he turns in the curl of Leandro’s arms. There’s a loud, obvious cough, then the overhead lights turn on. “Do not, in my place of work,” Hanare says.

And then, another, more irritated voice, “You can do your nasty stuff after,” Layla says. “Let me get what’s in your head first.”

“Oh, I’ll get that head, alright,” Leandro snickers and Layla jams her fingers into his ribs, punishing him.

“That’s ten percent off the top,” she tells him.  

“Layla!” And Leandro makes a scandalized sound, rubbing his side. “Look, we had to take down, like, thirty guys,” he says, groping around for a number that’s not too unbelievable. But with him, it usually always is. “It was dangerous!” he points out.

“All you had to do was follow the mark, get the information and get out,” she says pulling Akira down to her height. She adjusts her goggles down her face and pulls at the retractable jack. She jams the plug into the port on the side of his neck and Akira sees the information load and run across her screen in code. “And you weren’t even the one doing to the drop,” she argues.

“I went along as backup,” he justifies, pouting a little.

“You went along because you were bored,” Akira says with a chuckle. 

He feels the cold trickle of information leave him. He’s tried to explain to them why he shivers every time they do this, that the information feels like cold water siphoning through a tube, but Layla assures him that it’s all in his head. Regardless, goosebumps rise along his skin as the last bit of code file away into Layla’s database.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Leandro whines and Hanare pats his arm comfortingly.

“You were good backup,” Akira says as he stands, touching at the port gingerly, making sure that the silicone skin there closes over properly. He’s gotten dirt in there before and it wasn’t an easy fix. He turns to Layla. “What we agreed upon,” he tells her.

She huffs, pulls her goggles up to rest on her head. “Fine,” she mumbles, pressing her thumb to the bracelet on her wrist. “1500 solars.” She taps a button with her nail. “I’ll give you a call once I get this decrypted,” she says absently, already casting her mind to the digital. “Until then,” and she trails off, shooing them away as she backs up and sits down on the round chair beside her.

Akira, Leandro and Hanare exchange looks, shrug at each other with wide smiles.

“Come on, Sharpshooter,” Akira says, easing into Leandro’s space. His eyes lid and grow hazy and Akira knows that he’s got him hook, line and sinker. “I know where we can go  _ blow  _ these  _ so hard  _ earned solars.”


	22. Crossover (The Dragon Prince)

Lance is in the astral plane again, this time for no reason. He remembers falling asleep next to Keith and the next thing he knows he’s opening his eyes to blackness. He doesn’t panic. In fact, he’s calm, composed, cool as a cucumber, and why people use cucumbers for that metaphor is beyond him; it should be ice, ice is very very cool, but either way- he’s cool and very self aware.

He knows this isn’t a dream, even though by every rights it should be because he did just fall asleep (did he mention next to his smokin’ hot BF?) and the most important reason why that this isn't a dream is because they haven’t formed Voltron in over half a decade. They're due for the cosmos to be acting up and for the great paladin Lance to swoop in to save the day. He's been ready for years actually. But he doesn't tell anyone that.

It’s that same, out of body projection he had when he saw Shiro’s soul or consciousness or essence or whatever way back when. But this time, he’s not in his paladin armor. He’s in his underpants and Keith’s too big tee shirt and oh! Speak of the devil and he shall appear. He feels his face break into a grin and he jogs over to Keith’s confused face and kisses him on the nose.

“Hi,” he says and loops his arm around his neck, bringing him close. Even in this space-time continuum he still smells like vanilla.

“Hey,” Keith says and his voice echoes around them like they’re in a cave. “Why are you in my dream?”

“Not dreaming,” he says with a frown. And then it clicks. “Oh, you weren’t there last time this happened,” he muses out loud, “Yeah this is the astral plane.”

“Are we dead?” Keith jerks away and looks a little panicked.

“What? No, we’re fine. Somehow we got brought here for a reason. Last time everything was a little rushed and I felt like throwing up because everything was all over the place. But I feel good here. How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Keith huffs. “You’re more chatty than usual,” he states, looking around, too.

“Dunno, maybe this is just like an augmented side of our personalities ‘cause you’re sour as shit,” he claims and kisses Keith’s face just to be annoying. Also, Keith’s face puckers like a lemon. “See, your grumpypantsness is like a hundred times more now.”

“And your penchant for not making any sense is running rampant,” he fires back but Lance can see the fond look there though. It seems even their affection for each other is multiplied here. “So, what do we do?”

“Dunno,” Lance shrugs, dropping his arm and taking Keith’s hand. He starts walking, tugging Keith along.

“We’re just going to go wandering around in the dark?” he asks but keeps pace.

“Sure, why not?” Lance shrugs and sure enough, after about maybe five minutes or five hours of walking without tiring, they see a boy.

He has a blue coat with a red scarf on. Fingerless gloves. Not much of a fashionista, but to each his own. He sees Keith assessing their new astral buddy and he sees the moment his eyes land on those gloves. He see as Keith smiles and oh, this boy, keeper of his heart.

“Hey!” Lance barks and waves his arm in greeting. “Hey kid!”

The boy whips around to them, startled. “Who are you? I don’t know you- where is this?”

Keith squeezes his hand. Signal loud and clear.

“Dunno, where do you think this is?”

“I think I’m dead,” he says quietly. “I’ve seen my mom and my step-dad and they’re both gone and now here I am and it’s dark and I’ve been walking for forever and-”

“Hold up,” Lance holds up his hand. He concentrates and the area around them brightens. They’re standing in the grassy field right outside of his house and the smell of juniberries fills the air. When he refocuses Keith and the kid are looking at him in awe. Lance just shrugs.

“Alright, Kid,” and he eases down onto the grass, his knees creaking and popping as he goes. He still has Keith’s hand and Keith either gets jerked down or he comes gracefully. 

“Callum,” the kid says, “My name is Callum,” and he takes a seat across from Lance.

He sits tall with a straight back and Lance had been a delegate of Voltron long enough to know that this kid, Callum, was raised with good manners, probably upper-class, but he doesn’t seem spoiled.

“Callum, my name is Lance and this is Keith,” he introduces. He feels Keith shift next to him as he nods. “Now that we’ve got the basics out of the way, time is going to probably run a little faster here,” he says. “What’s bothering you, kid?”

Callum looks confused for a second, then resigned. “The thing that I wanted the most in the world was taken away from me,” he says. “I don’t have a place anymore,” he says and woah, this is really… heavy.

“How do you know it’s gone?” and Keith startles the hell out of him. It’s not that he spoke, but it’s his tone. He remembers this tone. The tone he had when he left for the Blades- when Lance realized- no, no that’s in the past now. He squeezes Keith hand tight. He’s here, here and he’s not leaving again. Keith glances at him, gives him a small smile, squeezes back.

“It just is! The crystal is gone, the runes don’t light up,” he digs his fingers into the grass and pulls it out in clumps. His shoulders fall and Lance picks out the sound of a choked off sob. He wants to go to him and comfort him but Keith pulls his hand back a little and shakes his head. “I’ve tried everything and the only thing that works is the one thing that’ll kill me.”

And paging Goddess Allura, please help your wonderful ex-boyfriend lover confidant out here, you put us in a field of landmines and I think we’re stepping on one.

“A long time ago, I thought I lost my place, too,” Keith starts slowly. “I was too young to see that I would always have a place. But I was stubborn and thought that walking away was going to fix things,” he turns his face to Lance for a moment, “All it did was hurt the people I loved.”

Keith releases Lance’s hand and plucks a flower out of the grass, the greenery strangely shifting so that the entire field is filled with blooming flowers and Lance feels in his chest Allura’s bright laugh as she slowly drifts back to all universes. Keith tucks the flower behind Lance’s ear and glides his finger down his jaw.

Keith eases around and sits next to Callum, puts a hand on his shoulder. “Callum, whatever it is, you got it in you,” he tells him and sneaks his hand to clasp at the nape of Callum’s neck. He grips there, shakes him a little for him to look up. He does and his eyes are shiny with tears. “You did it once before right? That means you can do it again. It doesn’t matter,” raising his voice a little, interrupting as Callum’s mouth opens to argue, “About this crystal or this rune, all you have to do is calm your center and then the path will be clear,” he tells him.

“Patience yields focus,” Callum says and Keith blinks his eyes in shock. “Yeah, that’s what my step-dad used to tell me.”

“Smart man,” Keith says.

“He was a wise king,” he agrees and oh lord, all of the alarms are going off in Lance’s head. Should he bow? Touch his forehead to the ground? Keith sees his panic and smiles, shakes his head to tell him to chill out. Be cool. Cool as a cucumber. Or ice. Whatever.

Keith is starting to look transparent and Lance looks down and sees that he’s going a little see-through, too. “Oh, man, I didn’t get to impart my wisdom,” he pouts.

They both look at him skeptically. “Hey, rude,” and he softens. “If you got people to love, and who love you in return, then you got all you need,” he says. He looks at Keith looking at him, face warm and soft and full of adoration- man oh man he’s gonna smooch the heck out of him when they get out of here.

“Thanks,” Callum says, drawing them both out of each other’s heart shaped gazes. “I think, I think I can do what I need to,” and he gets to his feet, dusting off his pants.

He inhales deep and the air shifts around them, expands and contracts as he breathes. He lets it out and the wind blows gently around them, the sweet smell of the flowers flowing through the field.

“This place is nice,” he says and Lance feels himself flush with pride. “Rayla would like it,” he says absently. But the scenery is different now, the background replaced by more trees, growing denser by the minute.

A forest.

It must be Callum making this space his own and it must be their cue to leave.

“You’re gonna be great, kid,” Lance says clapping him on the shoulder. Keith comes to stand next to him. “Bye, now!” He cheers and between one blink and the next Lance is opening his eyes to a bright morning.

He shifts in bed but can’t go far because, oh yeah, he fell asleep next to his sexy mans and Lance looks down and locks eye with Keith.

Keith blinks lazily and smiles, reaches up and untucks the juniberry flower from behind his ear.


	23. High School

Lance comes out from the shower squeaky clean and smelling of roses. He runs the gamut of his skincare routine- mask, toner, serum, moisturizer, taking special care as he rubs it into the skin of his cheeks and neck. He pumps lotion into his hand and spreads it over his arms and legs. He peeks over his shoulder and looks at the clothes hanging on the back of his door and suppresses a girlish giggle, fails and covers his face as his voice escapes him. 

Lance knows that Prom isn’t the most important thing in the world, that when he grows up his life experiences will eclipse this one night- but he’s not an adult in the real world yet, he’s young and excited and the night beckons him like a siren.

He unwraps the fresh pair of underwear he got just this afternoon, nothing fancy- just new and cute and he’s not banking on anything to actually  _ happen-  _ but it  _ could,  _ you know, just  _ sayin’-  _ and he just hopes that if something  _ does  _ happen, his date would appreciate the thought.

Lance takes the tuxedo down off the hanger and carefully detaches the clothes from the hanger. Veronica made his whole outfit, browbeat Keith into submission to come for his own fitting, just so they would match. He still hasn’t seen Keith’s tux but his sister is a whip with the sewing machine.

The fabric is heavy, thick- the brocade on the vest intricate and the color, navy skies at twilight, compliments his skin, makes him glow. He really owes Veronica his first born for this because holy heavens- as he slides the dark vest on over the crisp, white shirt, his waist immediately narrows and his hips flare and as he turns, he sees how nice his ass looks in these pants. Keith is going to have a duck.

He pulls the jacket on, completing the look but then notices the funny shaped fabric left on his bed. Oh, the bow tie. He frowns at it at a loss. He pulls out his phone and texts his sister. _ ‘A bow tie? I don’t know how to tie these things!’ _

Her reply comes ten minutes later, easy as you please:  _ ‘YouTube’ _

“Damnit,” he swears, and looks at the time in the corner, pockets his phone. Shit, Keith’s going to-

The doorbell rings and there’s the loud greeting of dogs barking and children yelling and his mother, “ _ Mijo _ ! Keith is here!”

“Yes,  _ Mamá _ !” he shouts back and grabs the untied bow-tie and launches down the stairs.

He doesn’t see Keith at the bottom but he hears his niece talking loudly in the living room,  _ Keef we went to the bo-botan-i-ko garden today! There were so many pretty flowers! Can you name the colors of the ones you saw? Yeah! There were blue ones and orange ones and there was one big one that was red like your shirt- _

Lance rounds the corner to the living room and stops dead. His throat dries and he feels his skin tighten because there Keith is, in his parent’s living room- the house he grew up in all his life, with his niece in his arms, balanced on his hip.

She has a finger absently curling ‘round and ‘round the ends of his hair- his slicked back hair and  _ Mar _ _ í _ _ a _ , he feels his knees weaken. He can see all of Keith’s smooth face and when he turns to him, his eyes are big and round and beautiful. Lance swallows around the lump in his throat.

“Hey,” Keith says.

“H-hi,” And Lance feels like a fool.

Keith smiles fondly, whispers something in his niece's ear. Her eyes grow wide and she giggles, nodding her head and Keith gently shakes her a little, pressing a kiss to her cheek before letting her down. She runs up to Lance and pulls on his arm to bring him down to her height. “Keef says that he’s gonna kiss that  _ estupido  _ look off your face,” she whispers into his ear.

He glances up at Keith, sees the mischief there and thank god Nadia is only five because Keith’s eyes flash something hot for a split second before back into hiding.

He brings Nadia’s face around so that he can whisper something into her ear. “I’m going to kiss him back and put an  _ estupido  _ look on  _ his  _ face,” he says, albeit in a loud, fake whisper.

Keith smiles wider, ducks his head, rocks on his heels.

“Nadia, will you get the flowers out of the refrigerator, please?” he asks her, brushing back her bangs and kissing her forehead. “ _ Abulea _ knows which ones,” he tells her.

“‘Kay,” she chirps. “You two gonna kiss now?”

“ _ Go _ , Nadia,” and he gives her a gentle nudge into the hall. She giggles, turns a little and peeks around the door frame before scampering off.

Lance turns and looks at Keith, finally taking stock. True to Victoria’s style, Keith is all clean cut lines with accentuating details. He’s in black, of course he’s in black, with gold buttons at the wrists, a simple accent.

But it’s his shirt- it’s a deep blood red and it brings out the paleness of his skin, turns it a milky white, makes him look delicious and Lance is suddenly ravenous, and Keith is standing there looking like a full course meal- his throat begging Lance’s mouth to come and mark it up.

There’s a fancy patterned pocket square that matches the hue of his shirt and a raven colored tie-

“Hey, not fair,” Lance pouts. “She let you wear a normal tie,” and Lance pitifully holds out the misshapen fabric that’s supposed to turn into a bow when done correctly.

Keith scoffs and takes the fabric from his hands. Starts upturning Lance’s collar, sliding the strip around the back of his neck. “Stay still,” he says.

“How do you know how to do this?”

“Shiro got married twice, remember? Once, to Adam, and then, again, together, to Curtis. There were lots of men to tie bow ties for,” he says.

Lance swallows as he feels the backs of Keith’s fingers brush the front of his throat. They’re cool and a little rough with callouses from working on his motorcycle all the time. He doesn’t smell like engine grease. Instead he smells like cloves, heady and lush and Lance sways into him.

“Hey!” He huffs out, “I said stay still,” he chuckles and pushes against Lance’s shoulder.

Lance shakes his head and wraps his arms around Keith’s middle. “You look smokin’ hot,” he says into the crown of Keith’s hair. Keith stills for a second, wraps his arms around Lance in return and they start rocking little together.

“Thanks,” he mumbles into his shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he tells him. “And your ass looks great,” he says, snaking a hand down and squeezing at said ass. “I owe Veronica our first born,” he laughs out.

Lance flushes, heat traveling up his chest to his neck to his face. Keith’s thought about them together even after this night, all the way that far and Lance feels his throat constrict a little at the implication.

He tucks his face into Keith’s shoulder, inhales cloves and Keith’s underlying scent and has a minor, earth shattering revelation. He tucks it away for later, not now, and pulls a little away from Keith to let him finish.

There’s a click and a flash and they both turn to see his mother standing to the entrance of the living room, camera in hand. Nadia is at her side with two, clear boxes in her hands. One box holds a deep indigo orchid and the other a blushing maroon peony.

Lance takes them from her and sets his flower on the coffee table. He opens the container and affixes the peony to Keith’s lapel, the soft petals brushing the back of his hand.

Keith leans over and takes Lance’s orchid and gingerly pins the stem into the jacket. Keith smooths the fabric down, fussing at it. His mother takes another picture, ruining the moment.

_ “Mam á !” _

“Nonsense,  _ mijo _ , you’ll thank me later, these are lovely. Now, get closer. This is for the frame,” she tells them as she readies the camera. Lance grins and slides his arm around Keith’s back, tucking his hand into the dip of his waist. Keith automatically turns his body and his own arm comes around and rests against Lance’s hip.

The camera goes off, blinding them a little.

“Have you kissed him yet?” Nadia pipes up from beside his mother.

Lance exchanges a look with Keith and they both move in at the same time, ready to out-kiss the other.

His mother’s camera blinks a flash, then another, and then Lance grabs Keith, tucks him close and supports his back as he gives him a dip.

He pulls away and Keith is laughing, laughing, his face bright and flush and he thinks,  _ yeah, I can get used to this. _


	24. Daredevil AU

Keith gets pounded into the wall. It hurts as his head ricochets off the brick but he shakes it off like he always does. He tilts his head, senses reaching out and he hears five more thugs running up the stairs, the narrow hallway echoing their heavy boots and the smell of them, sour and acrid makes Keith wrinkle his nose. 

He takes a breath through his mouth, clenches his teeth and his fists, tastes the metallic copper in his mouth and in the air and steps back into small alcove that he knows will hide him. The men slow, the metal of their weapons rubbing up against their tactical suits, the sweet tang of gunpowder in his nose- Keith feels it all. They come to him in a line- big mistake.

He lets them pass him and steps out of his hiding spot, catching one around the throat. He squeezes his throat and the man passes out. Keith drags him to where he was hiding, the others still unaware.

With four to go, he can take them. Keith sprints out again, punching hard to the one that turns to him. “Behi-!” he half shouts before his airway is compromised by Keith’s fist. The men turn, guns raised and if Keith were any other man that could see, he would be stunned by their flashlights- joke’s on them though. He’s already blind.

*

Keith limps his way down his fire escape from the roof, his senses already straining. His ribs and right cheek ache and he knows from the tightness of the skin there that it’s already swelling up with a shiny bruise. His mask only covers so much of his face. 

He can smell Lance before he even gets inside and Keith braces himself for a berating.

“Keith! Jesus!” And there are hands on him now, helping him inside over the sill of his window. Keith stumbles, Lance throwing him off with his pulling, his eagerness and worry. “ _ Cabr _ _ ó _ _ n _ ,” he swears, taking Keith’s arm and throwing it over his shoulder.

“You’re supposed to be kind to the wounded,” Keith huffs as Lance guides him into the bedroom. Lance swings him around and forces him onto the bed by pressing the back of his knees to the edge of the mattress.

“Well, you, yourself said that you can take the hits,” he says as he kneels in front of Keith and starts pulling off his boots. They  _ thunk  _ to the side of the bed and Lance moves on to his socks. “You’ve brought this upon yourself,” he huffs.

Lance stands and sighs, his hand slowly coming up towards Keith’s face. He can feel the way the air parts and moves and turns electric with Lance’s body heat, how the hairs on his skin stand to attention to get closer to that incoming touch-

Lance’s hand rests on the curve of the devil mask, sweeping back across the hard material, his skin lightly rasping against it. His other hand comes up and cradles on the opposite side and there’s pressure and Lance is pushing back the mask over Keith’s forehead. His hair bends backwards with the movement, flips and falls over his face and sticks to his skin in clumps.

Lance sighs again, a heavy sound. But it’s almost fond, resigned. Relieved. He lets go of the mask, the weight of it pulling the high collar of the black under-armor down his neck. Lance cups his face, turns it towards the light.

“This is a nice bruise,” he says absently. His breath smells like curry from dinner and it overlays his cologne, sweet and fresh and Keith lets himself drown in it, comforts himself with this closeness.

There’s words there that Lance won’t say- they've been said before. But Keith never listens, tells him this is the only way he knows how to protect the ones he loves. He’s stubborn, almost as stubborn as Lance, both of them bullheaded in their ways to achieve their visions of a safer tomorrow.

He feels Lance’s nimble fingers at the top of his spine, feeling and finding the hidden zipper and the armor eases away from his skin. It feels like he’s shedding a part of himself, freeing a new person beneath. Every time he puts on the suit, he puts on the hard armor of a fighter. Every time he takes it off, he sheds the skin of a sinner.

And Lance is his absolution.

“Lie down,” Lance murmurs and Keith eases himself back onto the mattress, the muscles in his back and abdomen protesting. Lance strips him of his suit, Keith shifting to get his arms free and he hears the sharp intake of air through Lance’s teeth.

“Jesus,” Lance hisses and his hand comes up, fingers light, tentative, and the places them against where Keith is hurting. It’s where he was elbowed into, then kicked repeatedly. The armor protected him from broken ribs and a ruptured kidney, but the force still bruised him.

Keith reaches up and presses his hand to Lance’s forcing his palm flat. It causes the muscles under the skin to jump, but the heat feels good. “I’m alright,” he says.

“You’re an idiot,” and Keith tastes the salt in the air even before Lance sniffles. Lance pulls his hand out from under Keith’s, slowly removing the rest of the suit, letting Keith move gingerly as he needs. Once off, Keith pushes himself up on the mattress and Lance grabs his legs, helping him slide rightfully onto the bed.

He hears Lance move around his apartment, sliding open the closet door, opening the chest that houses his suit and placing it inside. It closes with a definitive _whump_ and the metal latch falls into place.

Lance moves into the bathroom, pushing contents of his medicine cabinet gently around, rearranging them back into place carefully. He shakes out some pills and runs the tap. Over the sound of the water, Keith can hear Lance whispering a prayer in Spanish.

“Drink this,” he says, coming towards Keith.

Keith holds out his palm and two round tablets fall into his outstretched hand. He slams the medicine into his mouth, and takes the proffered glass of water to wash it down.

“Rest,” Lance says, putting the glass on the short table next to his bed. Keith closes his eyes, his body already relaxing.

He never gets startled, never gets caught off guard. But it must be Lance's calming presence because he jumps when he feels Lance's hand on his forehead.

“Goodnight, Daredevil.”


	25. Camp Half-Blood AU

Lance turns once in his bed, the springs creaking a little as he bounces. Looks at the clock on his bedside table. 2:32 and the small text in the corner of the time, glowing like a beacon: A.M. He turns in his bed again, the springs creaking loudly, pulls his pillow from under his head and presses it over his head, over his ears. 

It does absolutely nothing to muffle the sound of the tremendous racket that the Ares cabin is blasting out over their speakers at this god-forsaken hour.

Lance yanks the pillow from his head, slams it into his lap as he lays there contemplating calling down the wrath of Apollo on Keith and have him speak in funny limericks but knowing that aggravating mullet, he’d probably make his life worse. And he probably wouldn’t speak any way until the curse wore off.

He sighs. Rolls out of bed.

His feet hit the cool floor and he flexes his toes a little, hands on the edge of the bed, trying to keep him anchored there- _ it’s not worth it, don’t pick a fight, he’s just stupid, it won’t matter he’ll probably play the music louder, probably every night instead of the just two or three times he does.  _ But Lance needs his beauty sleep. He has the vision of Apollo to uphold, after all.

He gets to his feet and slips on his shoes, stepping on the heel in his haste. He grabs his jacket and pulls on a pair of joggers over his underwear and stalks out of his room at the back of the cabin. Some of his kids are awake, looking at him with red rimmed eyes, they, too, unable to sleep. This spurns Lance on and he sees some of them get out of bed, knowing where he’s going.

“Go back to sleep,” he says over his shoulder.

One of them scoffs. “Fat chance of that happening, we’re coming with,” and soon, he’s being followed out of the cabin and onto the grass, gravel crunching under his shoes as he stalks up the path to Ares cabin.

“Stay here, at least,” he tells his kids. They halt at the edge of the barbed wire, all of them watching him with wide eyes.

Lance takes in a deep breath, eyes cutting to the cabin on the opposite side, but of course it’s dark- Poseidon's kids usually always absent during the summers the camp is open, but that doesn't matter, he wouldn’t get reinforcement from them anyways.  
  
No one really says anything to the Ares kids. They’re too brash, too likely to start a fight, but whatever. Lance is fucking sick of it.

He lifts his fist but before he can pound on the door, it opens and Keith is taking up the breadth doorway. He regards Lance with a bored, indifferent stare, raises an eyebrow when Lance doesn’t say anything. “Can I help you with something?”

Lance is so busy looking at Keith’s face it takes him a second to register the words. He’s only seen the demi-god from across the quad, instructing his class on how to fight. He’s actually really good with the other kids, a patient teacher, watching and giving tips, showing a girl in Lance’s cabin how to hold a short sword, how to make small jabs instead of wide swings. He’s heard her go on and on how Keith is best teacher and how she’s going to marry him one day.

They’ve only had joint teaching lessons a handful of times, but even then Keith was on his side of the field and Lance was on his, only coming close to him when necessity calls for it or if Chiron wanders by some days and asks for a small demonstration of fighting techniques.  
  
“Hello?” and Keith snaps his fingers to get his attention. 

“Look, dude, it’s late, can you just turn your music down?” Lance bites out, the wind taken from his sails at being distracted.

“Got a problem with our music?” a kid pipes up from behind Keith. He’s small, missing a tooth, and he’s wide awake and Lance just wants to curl up in bed again.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he sighs out, crossing his arms and tucking his hands under his jacket. “It’s just late, and some of us wanna get some shut eye,” and he gestures to himself and his kids standing at the perimeter of the lot.

“Fight us for it,” another kid pipes up, this time a little older and scrappy looking and Lady Hera on her throne above what is Keith teaching his kids?

“I won’t fight,” he sighs, “I’m just asking nicely,” and he feels weary. It’s three in the morning and he’s only been able to take short cat naps before some blaring sound or some screeching guitar cuts into his dozing.  
  
“Come on Lance, we can take these guys,” one of his kids pipes up. He’s right behind him, peering around his elbow. “They’re just punk ass bitches, you said so yourself,” and oh, damnnit, it’s too late for this. Or too early. He doesn’t even know which. He lets out a defeated sigh.

“What? We ain’t bitches,” and Lance is suddenly getting shoved in his gut, hard, and it must be the lack of sleep but it catches him off guard and he stumbles back, his arms thrusting out for balance and he’s going to fall on his ass and make a complete fool of himself-

But there’s a warm hand circling around his wrist and it’s fitting, he thinks absently, his mind all out of sorts, thoughts all over the place, that Keith, one of the descendants of Ares, god of War, would run hot like this. He feels the blood pound in his veins, right where Keith is touching him, feels that heat travel up his arm and up into his face.

Keith yanks and Lance gets jerked forward, Keith’s hand coming up to press against his chest to keep him from falling onto him. And it must be because he’s sleep deprived but he swears he feels a smooth swipe of Keith’s thumb over his shirt and he that touch burns all the way down.  
  
Lance jerks his arm back and pushes away from Keith, bumping into the kid that was behind him. 

Keith looks him over. “Come on, fight me for it,” Keith says softly, finally, speaking up in place of his bratty cabin. A challenge. His arms hang limply at his sides. He has a playful look on his face and Lance is wide awake now, the adrenaline of almost falling making everything stand out a little more clearly. Keith, backlit by soft amber lamps, his hair falling in waves over his forehead, his stupid faded band tee shirt that looks soft to the touch- Lance tears his gaze away.

He clears his throat.

“Two days from now,” Keith says. “We’ll even keep the music down so you can sleep and get beat even fully rested,” he smirks.

And Lance is being tempted by two nights of uninhibited sleep that he blurts, “Yes,” immediately, the actual stakes making themselves known after the consonant leaves his lips. But, once a challenge is issued and answered favorably, there’s no taking it back.  
  
Lance squares his shoulders, puffs out his chest, jabs a finger into Keith’s sternum. “Fine! You’re on,” he barks, stalking down the steps. “Loser has to do whatever the winner wants for the rest of the summer!”

He turns back to Keith, standing lofty with a smirk on his face. “Anything?”

And Lance’s feet stagger at the implication, his face heats, and thank Zeus that all these kids are just kids. They’re extent of ‘anything’ are chores or bossing the other around to get sodas, but no, Lance is old enough to know what that smirk means.

But he can’t get caught taking it back, now. “That’s what I said or did your stupid mullet cover your ears?”

Keith grins wider, his eyebrow arching again. “Alright, then, anything,” he repeats.

Lance spins on his heel and ushers his kids back into their cabin. Once they’re all bedded down, still chattering excitedly about the duel, Lance stalks to his room and crashes into his bed, the springs protesting loudly. He looks at the clock 3:03AM but the music from Ares cabin is quiet.  
  
Lance’s phone lights up. He pulls it to him, checks the messages. 

 

_ See you on the field Sharpshooter, bring your bow _

 

And Lance is typing furiously, sitting up in bed to get the most movement of have arms and of course he’s going to bring his bow- he’s not an idiot. It is what he’s good at, after all.

But he will bring his short sword all the same, just in case they have to get into close combat, which thinking about it, they probably will.

But Keith is typing again, the ellipses bouncing in the little chat bubble, and then:

 

_ Remember, you said anything _


	26. Neighbors

Okay, hear him out. 

Keith is not a peeping tom.

He doesn’t go around the block pressing his face to his neighbor’s windows and looking inside.

And it’s definitely not his fault that his bedroom window faces his neighbor’s bedroom and that the curtains are usually almost always pulled back.

And it’s not his fault that he happened to be in there one evening getting a shirt for Shiro to borrow because he’s a klutz in the kitchen and saw said neighbor in his bedroom, half naked and damp and rubbing lotion all over his long brown arms and then lifting his leg and propping his foot up on the edge of the (plush white big) bed to get to the underside of a toned thigh and it’s not his fault that Keith gets hard-

It’s just his body, alright? It’s a natural reaction to a visual stimulus. Granted, yes, nothing explicit is going on but his neighbor is hot, okay? Just… hear him out.

He’s not a peeping tom.

If he happens to peep, it was just once, by accident.  

All the other times… well. He's not peeping more than he is actively looking. And well...

If you don’t tell, he won’t tell.

*

He’s gotten Lance’s schedule down to at T and he’s made sure that the light in his bedroom and the hall is off. The moon isn’t full but it’s not new, either, but it’s overcast and Keith made sure- made  _ sure _ , that his curtains are only half-drawn and that he’s in place in the shadows before Lance comes out of his shower and does his routine. 

Keith’s breath catches when he sees Lance come into his room, a grey towel around his waist, his hair still wet and slicked back. He swallows as he watches as Lance untucks the towel and rubs at his hair with it, the fabric still blocking what’s good, but that’s okay- _ that’s okay,  _ just hear him out- because all it is is a tease, the cotton draping in front of his crotch, but still showing off his waist and light, honey colored thighs and flashes of the sparse trail of hair from his navel down down down.

Keith swallows again as Lance turns to his dresser, hanging his towel over the back of his closet door, the long line of his back flexing as he pulls the drawer open, rummages around, pulls out a small, black- Keith bites his lip, forces his eyes to stay open for this- don’t blink, don’t miss this-

Back still to Keith Lance lifts one long leg, then the next, his stance showing off the rounded, low hang of his sac and Keith will give his right hand to the lord our god if Lance would just turn the fuck around.

But, oh- wait. Keith closes his eyes, inhales, bolsters his mind before opening his eyes again because, as Lance stands, his back on full display, he’s donned on a thong, black and small and no doubt snug and Keith wants to get on his knees and worship.

He feels his throat heat, feels the way it expands and contracts as he tries to swallow around the dry tightness there. He hears the click as he does, the heavy drop of whatever saliva he can muster slide down. His skin feels taut against his muscles, thrumming and electric and it wouldn’t really take much for Keith to get off, with Lance’s body right there, burning a hole in his eyes.

Lance moves over to his vanity, picking up the slim remote to turn on his speakers for music and Keith hears something pop-y with a heavy bass. He feels that bass in his blood as Lance starts to sway a little with the beat. He sits in front of the mirror, getting ready to go wherever he’s going for the night. He presses his fingers to his face, rubbing in a white creme, over the nape of his neck and Keith catches a glint of silver, two silver balls, at the top of his spine.

Keith runs hot and cold in flashes.

_ Does he have piercings anywhere else? Where would they be? How many? I’m sure they’re tasteful- Lance is an  _ _ aesthete- _

Lotion down his long arms, over his ribs, his chest expanding as he breathes and Keith can count each notch, thinks of how well his fingers can cup in between the spread of his bones. Lance’s arms reach around and spread lotion onto his lower back, the skin looking baby soft with two dimples right above the hem of his underwear and Keith just imagines lying with Lance on his huge, white bed and petting him there for hours, making the skin heat to a warm down.

Keith clenches his hands into fists, his jagged nails biting into his sweaty palms and here it is, here we go, the main show, as Lance stands gracefully, pumping lotion- a light coconut smell (Keith might have used the camera on his phone to take a picture from across the way and zoom in on the brand to see if he could find it in the store. He did and it sits in the back of his medicine cabinet and he only pulls it down when he’s feeling indulgent) and spreads it along the skin of his legs.

He props his foot up on the seat in front of the vanity, leans over his knee and Keith nearly whites out at the mere suggestion of the position, the curve of Lance’s back juxtaposed against the long line of his calf as it bears his weight, how the thong cuts into the fat in his hip.

That hand travels up, around his thigh, rubbing in circles and Keith nearly sees the face of god when that hand slides over the skin of his ass and rubs there, too, the first time Keith has ever caught him doing it.

Keith lifts his hand and rests it against his thigh, fingers playing at the seam of his jeans and he trails high to cup himself, presses and squeezes to ease the pressure, grunts a little as he watches Lance repeat the routine with his other leg. He won’t whip it out, not right now. That’s for later. Right now, he’s enjoying the show.

But something happens then, that- he swallows, eyes wide  _ don’t you fucking blink  _ as Lance comes to stand right in front of his window- the first time he’s ever done and he’s looking right at Keith, hiding in the shadows with the curtain half drawn and he can’t see him? Can he?

Either he must or he thinks he’s being watched because Lance just stands there, gently swaying to the music, massaging the heel of his palm, stretching, arms over his head and pulling the skin of his stomach tight as he leans backward and there, another glint of silver, one at each nipple and then lower, a small, blue bead in the hollow of his navel and oh fucking god- lower still, Keith can see-

The light flicks on in the hall and he jumps as Shiro calls out to him, his footsteps fast down the carpet and if Keith weren’t so keyed up, he wouldn’t have the adrenaline helping him spring from his chair to his closet, busying himself, pretending to look for something, anything- goddamnit Shiro- as he flicks on the lights-

And he glances out the window, sees Lance looking right at him, his hand in the universal configuration of a gun and he pulls the trigger, his wrist flicking back as his lips mouth the word _bang_ and fuck holy shit he knows Lance knows he’s been watching-

And Shiro comes barreling in, two wine bottles in his hands, “... you think the white or the red will be good with the lasagna? Keith? What are you doing, you’re supposed to be getting ready.”

“What are you doing? Getting ready for what?”

“The next door neighbor is coming from dinner,” Shiro says with a cocked eyebrow. “Lance,” he clarifies. “He introduced himself earlier and we got to talking. I told you about it this morning,” he tells him with a frown.

Keith feels a flash of panic, his eyes darting to the window but Lance is gone, well at least from the window’s view, his light is still on.

“You alright?” Shiro asks.

Keith cuts his eyes back to Shiro, at the wine bottles in his hand. “Red, he’ll like the red,” he says his voice pinching in the middle. He swallows. “The one’s that sweet,” he adds.

Shiro tips his head. “How do you know?”

Keith looks out his window again, a quick to and away, just quick enough when Shiro's not looking at him so that he's not caught looking at Lance, and the sheer curtain is drawn.

There's a gap in the curtain and the fabric is thin enough that he can faintly see Lance as he pulls on a sky blue shirt. He knows, even from this distance that the color well offset his skin beautifully. Keith can see the small bulge of a smile in his cheek, only half of his profile and Keith wants to see his eyes.

“Just a feeling,” and pulls down his best shirt, the one that shows off his forearms.

He’ll leave it open at the throat, tonight. Wear the thick black cord with the heavy pendant around his neck, let it swing forward as he comes up behind Lance to pour him wine.

He can be a tease, too.


	27. Artists/Performers (con't. of Celebrity)

This is the sixth ꓘ concert that Lance has attended and it’s as good as the first. Keith does a lot of covers in his shows, maybe showcasing two or three songs off of his album but even then it doesn’t matter because Keith’s voice is sounds good at whatever he sings.

 

_ Baby I wanna touch you, I wanna breath into your will, see I gotta hunt you, gotta bring you too my hell _

 

Lance is pressed up against two pretty girls, and a skinny kid at the back of him, not by choice mind you, it’s all an added bonus, but he really isn’t pay attention to those minor details. All his attention is riveted to Keith on the stage. 

 

_ Baby I wanna fuck you, wanna feel you in my bones, Boy I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna tear into your soul _

 

He’s ethereal up there with the low, warm colored lights, singing into the mic on a stand in front of him and the bass hanging low from his shoulder strap. Lance takes in his stance, his spread legs and the way the muscles in his forearms twitch with each pluck of the strings. 

Shiro keeps pace with him on the drums, the tinny sound of the cymbals blending in with Keith’s voice. He’s relaxed, the beat slow and steady and deep and Lance feels the heat of the crowd turn sweet, oppressive, everyone swaying as if on a wave, cresting and getting flustered with the lyrics.

 

_ Desire, I’m hungry, I hope you feed me _

 

Keith lets go of his bass, lifts his arms to grip the microphone with both hands, Axca, one of Keith’s friends that sometimes plays the guitar for them when they’re in town, picks up some of the slack, her dark colored hair sticking to her neck and cheeks in clumps. 

Keith sings into the mic, his eyes closed.

 

_ How do you want me how do you want me _

 

_ How do you want me how do you want me _

 

It had been almost six weeks before Keith came back from his tour, his homecoming only spoiled by the fact that he’d be leaving again not a week later for another month stretch. 

He always does a free show at Hunk’s while he’s here, just for one night, giving back to his hometown fans. It’s nothing for him, really, to do this. He’s told Lance that it’s like a gloried Karaoke night and Lance had kicked him under the sheet and laughed and laughed and they rolled together on the bed and it hadn't mattered who topped that go around.

 

_ How do you want me how do you want me _

 

_ How do you want me how do you want me _

 

There’s something a little off about Keith’s voice though. It’s a little rougher than usual and Lance feels a hot flush of arousal burn through his body at the thought. He feels his tongue fatten in his mouth, saliva flooding his throat and he swallows, knees going weak like how they did before the start of the show.

 

_ Honey I wanna break you, wanna throw you to the hounds _

 

Keith opens his eyes his words flowing over the crowd like water. His eyes travel around the room and land on Lance, his whole stance changing. He picks up his bass, fingers moving slow and sure over the frets, the minute flex of his wrist as he picks at the strings. He doesn’t stop looking at him as he plays and sings.

 

_ Yeah I gotta hurt you, let me hear it from your mouth _

 

The people around him scream thinking it's for them.  

It's not.

That heavy lidded gaze is for Lance only.

The lights reflect off the sweat on Keith's skin, making him glow. The lamps swivel around on the stage, some fancy program changing how the shafts of light move across the band but it brings out a primal urge in Lance, makes the heavy pressure in his gut travel lower and slither around his hips and thighs.

Keith grabs at the mic again, looking straight at Lance, holding it at such angle that Lance knows exactly what Keith is doing, the sly shit. It doesn’t ease the image from his mind though, only amplifies it, of Keith, holding Lance in the same way that he’s holding that mic-

 

_ Boy, I wanna taste you, wanna skin you with my tongue, boy I’m gonna kill you, gonna lay you in the ground _

 

He’s still sensitive from earlier, his body still muddling through the quiet lassitude of his orgasm. But as Keith sings, it morphs into something much more sensual, something secret and watchful, like a snake uncoiling at the prospect of catching prey and feasting. All of his senses are dialed up to the max, the smell of the sweat around him, the suffocating heat, how the bass feels in his bones- 

And the sight of Keith, a fucking god up on that stage-

-the sight of him, on his knees, in-between Lance’s, taking him well past the clutch of his throat, pressing his nose to the flat pane of Lance's pelvis. Pulling back without even a cough as he takes him down again, Lance gripping at the roots of his hair-

The hair that’s currently in disarray from sweat, and the rocking movement of his head, falling out of the high bun he had it in-

 

_ How do you want me how do you want me _

 

His hair still swept aside enough to show off that swan-like neck, pale and marked up with the fresh red bruises in the shape of Lance’s mouth and teeth as he sucked and bit-

 

_ Desire, I’m hungry, I hope you feed me _

 

Lance feels the want pool between his legs, lets the pressure build there, lets his desire climb. He thinks of all the ways he’ll let Keith have him, of all the ways he’ll have Keith. 

They’ve been separated for far too long, his visits to the store kept chaste. Well, as chaste as two newly found lovers are, but it’s here, right before a show, that Keith gets riled up, his blood thrumming and surging in his veins. Moving like water- like sound, like a song, all through Lance's veins and then some.

Lance is the happy recipient of all that pent up aggression and nerves and longing and he lets Keith have his way- let’s him use his body however he wants to pacify himself-

It's getting dangerous, how much he lets Keith get away with. How he lets him take him in a public place, thighs spread and tense around Keith's waist, or even on his knees on the floor of the dressing room, always just hidden  _ enough  _ but with the threat of being seen.

Or with Lance pressed up against the vanity, not even an hour past, right in the fucking open where anyone could just walk in-

He really will do anything for Keith.

Even if it shreds Keith's throat before a show, it adds a nice husky quality to his voice that the crowd eats up. Even if the shirt Keith wears advertises his music store because Lance came all over Keith's face and neck and it dripped down his throat and onto his dark collar-

Even if they  _ do _ get caught...

Lance would still wanna hook up with him until Keith moves on…

But he really doesn't want  _ that _ .

So he'll do everything he can to keep him.

 

_ I wanna feel you, I want it all _

 

_ I wanna feel you _

 

_ Boy, how do you want me? _

 

_ Boy, how do you want me? _


	28. Fantasy

Lance doesn't know where the picture came from. He had been cleaning his room one day, Pidge wedged into the corner of his bed and wall playing some chirrpy game on her handled. He holds the picture and looks at the figures standing in the frame. It's of three men that he knows, all tall and broad shouldered. They all look so happy and Lance wonders what’s making them smile. Is it the person behind the camera? Who is the person taking the picture?

He flips the photo over.  _ Adam Curtis Shiro '27 Pleasant Hill Bluffs _

"What the hell?" Lance says as he turns the photo over. "How did a picture of Shiro end up in my room?"

Pidge doesn't look up from her game. "Dunno, weird," is all she says, her attention not even torn. Lance comes to sit down next to her, jostling the bed on purpose and at that she gives him a murderous glare. "Oh, Keith took that picture," she says, peering over Lance's arm at it.

"Ugh, Keith," Lance says, faking a disgusted look, keeping up appearances. "Don't talk to me about that mullet head."

Pidge surprisingly lowers her game. "Dude, what is your beef?"

"I just don't like the guy okay? He thinks he's better than everyone else. And he can't even remember my name! I mean, how rude? We have the same classes together!"

"Keith's not good with people," is all she says, going back to her game. "But he's a nice guy when he opens up," she tells him, her voice soft and fond.

"I'm trying, but all he does is sneer at me whenever he comes around looking for you," Lance huffs, looking at the picture again. Was it a vacation? Did they have fun? Was Keith a sourpuss the whole time? He seems the type, not wanting to have fun.

"He doesn't know how to deal with people are complete idiots," she says as she starts button mashing. "I know that not everyone can be as smart as me, so I let them slide. Keith on the other hand takes things very literally, so flirting off the bat is a no-no," she tells him.

"I didn't-"

"You did, you always do," she snaps. "Now hush, I'm trying to beat this level for you.”

Lance huffs, looks down at the photograph again. He rubs over the edge of the glossy paper.

Slowly, he's starting to realize that he's starting to drift towards the photo, eyes never breaking contact with Shiro's and then, blink, and his whole world changes.

The first thing he notices is that he's looking at Keith with a camera in his hands.

There's the feeling of the sun, hot on his neck and two hands coming from opposite directions at the small of his back. There's the smell of the ocean and the sound of waves and Lance knows this is some weird shit and please- someone, just wake him up.

Keith looks good, (he always looks good) with his cheeks pink and flush with excitement. He has a white shirt on over some ripped jeans and Lance feels his heart beat a little faster as he sees the skin of Keith's thigh and knees peeking out from the distressed fabric.

"I got it, you guys look good," he says with a smile.  

Lance is about to open his mouth and ask what the fuck is going on but what comes out is, "You sure? Your definition of good is very different from mine," and he hears Shiro's voice come out from his mouth.

"Nah, you're all blinking and making constipated faces," he jokes, but hands Lance the camera all the same. Lance looks through Shiro's eyes as he inspects the preview window on the camera.

It's the same image that Lance was holding not even five minutes ago. Satisfied, he nods and hands it back. "Told you," Keith says with a soft smile on his face, the first that Lance has ever seen and wow, oh, um.

There's a touch to his arm and Lance feels the strange sensation of his body moving without his permission as Shiro turns towards Curtis. "Where next?" the man asks, pulling out a guide book.

"Dunno about you lot, but I'm starving," Adam says, leaning over Keith's arm as he tilts the camera screen towards him to see. Adam smiles approvingly, reaches up and tousles Keith's hair and Keith lets out a laugh. It rings around the air around them like little bells and Lance feels Shiro's face pull into a smile of his own.

"Yeah," Shiro says. "Let's eat and then get some stuff to bring back," he announces, pulling out his phone to look up restaurants in the area.

They decide on a place and make their way to the car. Adam and Curtis are in the front, not too far, but Shiro speaks to Keith in a low tone.

"Anything in particular you want to buy?" He asks.

Keith ducks his head, fiddles with the camera, looking through all the pictures he's taken. Lance can see from his higher vantage point that Keith has a good eye. There's lots of aesthetic shots, lots of candids, a few of the group posing. Keith's not in many of the pictures.

"Any _ one _ in particular you want to buy for?" he asks, nudging an elbow into Keith's ribs. He involuntarily giggles and skitters away, ticklish (and Lance absorbs that information like a sponge).

"Ass," he wheezes, righting his spine. "And no, there's no  _ one _ ," he stresses the words.

"You sure? Nothing for a blue eyed Cuban boy back home?"

"Shiro, shut the fuck up," he whines, "It was a mistake telling you I thought he was cute," he grumbles under his breath. Then, after a beat, "God, he hates me," and he covers his face with his hands.  

“I don’t think he hates you,” Shiro says quietly, soothing.

“He does! I mean, yeah, I fucked up the first time not remembering his name, but I’m not good with faces and he was flirting with me,” and it’s coming out in a torrent now. “I  didn’t know what to do so I panicked.”

“So you were short with him,” Shiro finishes, an indulgent smile on his face. “That’s pretty much your default setting when you don’t know people,” he says with a chuckle.

And holy hell- Keith thinks he’s cute. Keith’s sorry for snapping at Lance. Fuck fuck fuck. He’s got this guy all wrong. He’s not a dick. He’s just awkward.

And really, now thinking back on it, there were times when Keith would get this pained look on his face, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t get it out. Lance thought it was just him going to say something nasty, but now, with this knowledge, he thinks of all the other things it could have been. An apology, a sincere hello.

Lance was the one being a dick.

He’s pulled back to the present (past? This strange alternate reality where he astral projected into Shiro’s body?) with Shiro’s next words, “Don’t you think getting something small can bridge that gap? A peace offering to start over?” he asks as they stop in front of a small shop and look into the window.

“Hey, you two, hold on,” Shiro calls to his husbands and Adam and Curtis swivel around, back tracks towards them, giving Keith and the shop an appraising once over. They grin, knowing what’s up.

“I heard from Pidge that Lance like getting gifts. No matter what they are. It doesn’t even have to be expensive. Matt said he cried over some flowers some kids picked out of the grass for him for playing with them,” and jesus he’s going to have to have a word with the Holt siblings spilling his secrets when he gets out of this. “As long as it’s thoughtful.”

And Shiro opens the door, a soft tinkling sound heralding their entrance. Adam and Curtis precede them, branching out and scouting for something to buy.

Keith is looking at the camera in his hands, thumbing the shutter. “I think I know what I’ll give him,” he says. “He likes the beach,” he starts, his thoughts forming. “That’s where we’re going next right?”

Shiro nods, the fond smile on his face bleeding into Lance’s consciousness. “Yeah, we can get nice pictures there,” he says and as Lance looks at Keith through Shiro’s eyes he sees Keith as he grins, the smile blooming across his face like the sun.

And between one blink and the next, he’s back in his room, sitting next to Pidge, wedged into the corner of his bed.

He can’t wait to see what Keith is going to show him.


	29. Free Day/AU of Choice (con't. of Galtean)

Keith is getting ready for bed when he hears a soft  _ plink  _ against his window. He looks out at the sky thinking that it’s the sound of a raindrop hitting the glass, but the moon shines without a hindrance of clouds and the sound comes again, a little sharper this time,  _ plink!  _ and Keith goes to the window. He peers out and sees nothing for a moment and then Lance materializes from thin air, the hood and mask of his Marmora suit falling away.

“Come down!”

“What are you doing? I have a door,” Keith says as he opens the window. He looks at the pipe running the length of the wall all the same. He hasn’t done this since he was small and his father set strict bedtimes. He’s a little worried that it’ll detach from the wall but he he swings his legs over the sill and hikes onto the pole. It creaks under his weight but holds.

“I saw this in an Earth movie,” Lance says in a mock whisper. “Don’t worry, if you fall, I’ll catch you,” and opens his stance to brace himself if he does have to catch Keith if he drops like stone.

Keith shimmies down the pipe and touches down on the grass, stumbling a little when the wet turf gives and slides his feet. Lance’s wide palm cradles his lower back to steady him and when Keith straightens he’s looking into Lance’s ocean colored eyes at midnight.

“Come on, it’s not far,” he says as he pulls on Keith’s hand. “I wanna show you something.” Keith looks down at their clenched fingers and smiles, curls his hand tighter around Lance’s.

They come upon a clearing not far from the castle grounds and Keith spies the warped, hidden image of Lance’s shuttle. It, like Lance, materializes out of the air and Lance ushers him up the ramp and inside the cockpit. “Seat belt,” Lance reminds him as he starts flicking on the engine. It whirrs quietly to life and soon they’re in the air, coasting over the cliff, circling and gathering speed.

Lance angles the craft and they’re shooting through the atmosphere, and all Keith can do is watch in awe as the clouds part for them and the endless blackness of space takes its place. The stars out here are burning fixed dots and Keith’s eyes start to burn with unshed tears. He blinks quickly to try and keep them from falling.

“Close your eyes, Your Highness,” Lance murmurs.

Keith looks at Lance in askance, sees his earnest eyes and the solemn set of his mouth and does what he’s asked.  Keith feels the ship slide and turn, his stomach dipping and righting itself without the aid of his sight.

He hears Lance inhale through his nose, flick some switches on the console, exhale quietly and the craft whirrs down.

“Okay,” Lance says quietly, slowly, almost sounding unsure of the words coming out of his own mouth, 

“You can look.” 

When Keith opens his eyes, he comes face to face with his home planet.  

“Now you can’t say that you’ve never left Altea,” Lance says, his voice soft, like calling out to a skittish animal. He takes a deep breath. “Don’t interrupt me, okay? Let me just, say what I want to say, and,” he takes another breath, holds it, blows it out of his mouth. “Just listen.”

Lance looks at Keith for confirmation and he gives it, nodding once. Lance turns back to face the window and one of his hands grips at the flight handles tightly. “Kolivan wants me to take over the Blade, but that means I won’t be able to come see you as often. He’s ushering for more diplomacy and that’s going to take me to different systems and quadrants and god knows where else. He wants to introduce me to the different Heads of State and that’ll take at least six months, if not more,” and Keith translates that into half a dobash, maybe even a full cycle and stars above, they’ve never been apart that long.

Keith feels the bile rise in his gut, his stomach churning and turning sour. Lance is going to leave. He’s going to be gone and Keith won’t know when he’ll see him next. A full dobash, maybe more, he’d have to find and court someone by that time, and it maybe a progressive kingdom but it’s still steeped in tradition.

It’s a necessity of taking his place as his mother’s aide, and then to take up her position as Head Advisor, something Keith has wanted all his life. But without Lance…

Without Lance.

Lance sighs, pulling Keith back. He drinks him in, watches as he worries at his lip, his eyes darting around the small space and something about him is different and Keith finally puts a finger on it.

Lance is nervous.

Lance opens his mouth, closes it, tries again. “I’m, I’m okay with people and I can talk and talk  _ at  _ them but- I need someone that I trust, to talk  _ to,  _ afterwards. To, to make sure I see all of it. Like... an adviser. To help me. And since you’re so smart, like, I was wondering, if, maybe-”

“Yes,” Keith answers immediately, his brain finally catching up to the mess of words spilling Lance's mouth like broken glass, sharp and glittering in the sunlight. “Yes, yes, I’ll come with you,” he says again and his heart is soaring. Pounding. His hands are shaking and his face feels hot.  _ Let me be with you. _

Lance lets out the rest of his breath. Looks at Keith with shining eyes.

_ Let us never be apart. _

“Hoo-kay,” Lance huffs. He chuckles and hangs his head, taking in a shaking laugh. He’s fiddling with something in his other hand and Keith catches bright glints of gold as he twists it in his fingers. “There’s something else. I wasn’t sure, what to ask first. But, some Blade I am, ha ha,” he laughs as he looks at his fidgeting hand.

And Keith’s eyes are riveted to the thing in Lance’s palm, trying to catch another glimpse.

“Ask me,” Keith says.

Lance lifts his head. His chest is rising and falling quickly, his cheeks pink. He turns the pilot’s seat, faces Keith, looks at Altea again. He bites his lip and slithers out of the chair and gets onto his knees in front of Keith. A supplicant’s position. Keith tries to pull him up, hands around his arms but Lance won’t budge- doesn’t he understand? Lance has always been his equal. Will always be his equal. In all things, always.

Lance shakes his head, wraps his hands around the bend in Keith’s knees, and presses his forehead against the tops of Keith’s thighs. Keith stops pulling and rests his hands on top of the crown of Lance’s head, the tips of his fingers setting against the nape of his neck. It’s hot and tacky with a little sweat.

They breathe quietly together for a few moments, Keith running his fingers through Lance’s hair. He watches as Lance’s back expands as he takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

“You deserve all the things that bring you joy,” Lance murmurs, and it’s not difficult for Keith to make out the words clearly because he knows them by heart, through hours of practice, what they are, has had them memorized for years, waiting for the right moment… 

Lance takes a breath, continues, “If I can be one of those things, then I come as I am, here, now, to ask you. I will do everything in my power to ensure that only happiness is in your heart. I will protect you as I have always done. I will provide for you a life that is your due. Let us entwine our lives and find peace together,” he says voice thick and it wavers a little at the end.

Lance is reciting the age old promise when two souls join and solidify their union. But there’s one piece that’s missing and Lance is hesitant. Keith grabs Lance’s face, pulls it out of his lap and forces Lance to look at him, squeezes his cheeks together and at any other time it would be a hilarious but right now, for right now, Keith eases his hold, cups Lance’s face gently.

“Ask me,” he whispers. Encourages.

Lance lifts his hands, encircles Keith’s wrists, slides his hands away to grasp at them and kiss his knuckles and Keith sees the wet tracks on his cheeks.

“Ask me,” he says again, impatient.

Lance closes his eyes, his lashes sweeping across the back of his hand. “Will you allow me to be by your side for the rest of our days and unto the here after?”

Keith doesn’t even need to think.

“Yes.”


	30. Neighbors AU overflow

Lance holds the bowl of the wine glass by the tips of his fingers as he sits across from Shiro and listens as he talks. His elbow is up on the armrest and when he’s not drinking, he hovers the glass next to his face, absently rotating his wrist to let the liquid inside swirl around. It’s a tactic that draws the eye, gives someone the excuse to look in the vicinity of his face. And does he want to be looked at.

He laughs and adds his opinion when it’s required of him in the conversation, plays the role of the perfect dinner guest. Lance is giving Shiro his full attention. 

Or, that’s the impression that he’s giving any way.

Lance’s senses are actually all honed in on Keith, watching him with a quiet intensity. 

They’ve eaten the, quite frankly amazing, lasagna. Lance had tucked away two square slices and the tasty sides, all accompanied by a choice vintage wine. Sweet with a hint of wild cherries and it paired well with the food. Lance feels full and a little drowsy from the carbs, and just on the right side of feel good due to the alcohol, but he doesn’t feel  _ satisfied _ . 

He turns his head, sips his wine, and cuts his eyes to Keith as he does so. Those dark eyes lock with his and Lance hears the tell-tale pound of his simmering arousal in his head. 

“Yeah, the grocer’s on Magnolia carry it,” Shiro says as spears his last bit of vegetable on his fork. “I haven’t found it anywhere else, and it's the only brand that doesn’t smell like feet.” 

Lance grins. Shiro’s a nice guy, all calm and easy smiles. He likes him, can see them becoming good friends over shared recipes and gardening tips.   
  
But Keith though, sitting adjacent, he wants something more from Keith. He's currently radiating a silent, wanting heat and that heat is slowly suffusing throughout Lance’s body as time wears on. Lance shifts his legs under the table, crossing them at the knee, and his foot bumps into something warm next to him, clad in tight black jeans, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Keith twitch minutely. 

“I mean, their produce section is really high quality. I think they outsource from some of the farms around here,” Lance says as he puts his empty wine glass down on the table. He presses the side of his foot against the side of Keith’s calf and slowly strokes up and down against the fabric with his shoe.

“They’re good with the seasonal stuff, too,” Shiro adds. “They have chestnuts in the winter, which is rare.” 

Lance hums, a little distracted now as he feels Keith’s knees part and his leg shifts more in his direction. He presses his fingers to the foot of the wine glass, moves it in little circles on place mat. “Have you done the whole ‘roasting on an open fire’ bit?” He asks. 

Keith chuckles, the round of his cheek signifying his crooked smile. “Yeah, never doing that again, though,” he says. “They ended up burnt, catching fire, whatever. And the ones that we did manage to save, they scorched the inside of our mouths.” And Lance would indeed like to feel the heat on the inside of said mouth. 

Shiro laughs and stands, picking up his plate and making his way around the table. Lance starts to rise-

“No, sit down, you’re a guest,” he says and whisks away the dishes in front of Lance. He takes Keith’s as well and he walks into the kitchen. There’s the sound of water and the clink of the utensils and ceramic.

“Did you enjoy the food?” Keith asks him. He’s blatantly staring now, his gaze heavy. 

“Yeah, it was all really good,” and he looks at the wine. “Good wine, too,” he adds. “Did Shiro pick it?” 

“No, I did,” Keith says and Lance lifts his eyes slowly, appreciatively. He likes a man with good taste. 

Lance takes him in, the dark swirl of his hair, his shirt open at the throat, that black cord peeking from under his collar, running down his chest and Lance wants to see what’s at the end of it. 

Keith pushes back his chair, the feet making a quiet  _ sffft  _ against the aubusson and he rounds the table to pour Lance another splash of wine. He’s been doing this all night, standing and pouring, leaning over Shiro’s shoulder, leaning over his, showing off that long pale neck, the pendant swinging forward and drawing his eyes to Keith's chest. 

He’s doing that now, the side of his throat right in front of Lance’s mouth and, even though he's full of food, who is he to refuse a good meal when it’s presented. Lance leans forward, tucks his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, presses his nose right under his fringe. 

“You smell delicious,” he murmurs, titling his chin and sliding the tip of his nose up Keith's neck, “Like a hard day in the sun, like sweat- like a man, sweet and salty all at once,” and Lance knows that he’s getting a whiff right from the source, knows that there’s no way Keith took a shower before dinner. Made sure that his routine ran right into the time _ just before  _ so that maybe he could smell the day on Keith just like this. 

“I could eat you right up, sweetheart,” and he nips at the hard jut of bone behind Keith's ear. Keith lets out a shaky breath through his mouth and Lance can smell the sweet wine in his breath. “Let me have a taste,” he coaxes and tugs on Keith's earlobe with his teeth.

“Fuck,” Keith gasps and it’s quiet enough that Lance can hear the sound of the water in the kitchen as it abruptly stops and Shiro’s voice _ Lance? Would you like some dessert?  _ And oh,  _ would  _ he.

Keith jerks as if he’s been burned, “Fuck!” he hisses, and Lance would really like to explore the ranges of those fucks, but as Keith jerks his hand knocks into the wine glass and Lance watches in slow motion as it tips and the wine spills over the rim as if in a wave. Keith rights the glass just before it tips completely over but the damage is done as the wine splatters against Lance’s shirt. “Fuck!” Keith panics, “Sorry, sorry,” and Shiro is coming through the archway. 

“It’s alright,” Lance says, amused as Keith looks panicked. He encircles Keith’s wrist as he’s blotting at the wetness with the dinner napkin. “It’s alright,” he repeats, feeling Keith’s pulse racing under his fingers. He thumbs at the thundering vein in his wrist and Keith’s arm goes lax. 

“Lance, the bathroom is down the hall,” Shiro says, moving the wine glass away just in case. 

“I’ll get you another shirt,” Keith mumbles and if Shiro weren’t right there, he’d duck in a kiss that worried look of his face, all his intense charm falling away at thinking he screwed up.  _ We can’t have that now, _ Lance thinks and he slides his thumb up his wrist before pulling away.    
  


“Thanks, you do that,” he says, already walking away, fingers working at the button of his throat. 

He finds the bathroom easily and flicks on the light, leaving the door open a crack. He runs the tap and makes sure that the water is as cold as it gets before he finishes unbuttoning his shirt. 

He hums as he slides his shirt over his shoulders, sways his hips, pumps a little bit of the hand soap onto the fabric and scrubs. He forces his arms tense, making the muscles in his forearms stand out.

“You like to watch,” Lance says suddenly, “Don’t you?”

The door eases open and Keith comes in, leaves it ajar wider than he had left it. “And you like showing off,” he says. “Sorry about your shirt,” he sincerely apologizes.

“It didn't stain,” Lance tells him wringing the cloth and shaking it out.

Keith hums. “The outcome of it, though, was nice,” and he runs a finger down Lance’s spine, reaches the top of his pants, backtracks up and Lance can feel his fingertip hover around where his nape is pierced.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t hurt,” he says as he keeps his face down, focusing on the touch of Keith's curious finger.

Heat, unexpectedly, all along his back, as Keith presses into him from behind, presses his mouth to his shoulder, presses his lips against the metal in his neck and all the hairs on his skin stand to attention. He breaks out in goosebumps, the contrast of Keith’s hot mouth and the cool air around them throwing his senses for a loop. 

“I’m not good with subtle,” Keith admits between one peck and the next. “Not like you. I tried but I’m not that good at the game,” he says and grips at Lance’s hips, holding him still as Lance squirms in his hold. 

Lance shakes his head. “Your necklace,” He breathes out, “Made me keep looking,” he tells him. “Wanna get to what’s underneath,” he pants. 

“Fuck,” and there’s another one Lance can file away, more in tune of the one he heard when he toyed with Keith’s earlobe, breathy and low. “I’d watch you,” he swallows, “From my room,” he tells him, like Lance never knew about the eyes that would rest on him after his showers. How they grew intense and heavy as he rubbed lotion onto his-

“All your skin, how you took special care of it,” Keith says as he presses his forehead to the blade of Lance’s back. “Always wondered how you’d touch me,” Keith murmurs, like a sinner at confession. Like Lance could give him absolution. “If you would ever.”

Lance looks at Keith in the mirror, catches his eyes, like gems, glittering and bright, in the reflection. Lance tips head back, bearing his throat for a moment and looks at them from under his lashes. Keith nips at the side of his neck, still looking at Lance looking at him and the heavy rush of heat travels al the way down. 

He turns in the circle of Keith’s arms, bringing them face to face, his eyes flicking to the door. 

“Your brother could come check on us any time,” and he feels the moment the thought sinks in, Keith stiffening, but Lance pushes onwards with his words, “But maybe  _ you  _ want to be watched? You did leave the door open,” he says and follows the cord of Keith’s necklace with his finger. “Have you ever thought of that? People just looking at you while you’re undressed, not even touching? Letting their eyes roam all over your skin?” 

Keith buries his face in Lance’s neck, his breath coming out hot and rapid and he grunts, whines a little as Lance twines his fingers in his hair. 

“Let me tell you,” Lance murmurs, eye on the door, just in case. He doesn’t want to get kicked out, after all. “It feels electric. When you were watching me this afternoon,” scrapes his nails over Keith’s scalp.

“I’ve always known,” he whispers, a confession of his own. “Always known, sweetheart, when your eyes are on me,” and he yanks, pulls Keith’s head back just far enough that he can still see from under his lidded eyes. 

“What would you do if I told you I’ve watched you?” Lance whispers into the air, “That I’ve seen you moving around your room,” grips and yanks at the long strands of his hair, tips Keith’s face back further, stretching the arc of his throat to almost its breaking point. “Not a stitch on?” He leans down and kisses the ridge of Keith’s throat, feels it bob heavily against the pull of his neck.

And, his darkest secret. “Watched you do what you don't let anyone else see?”

“Oh, god- Lance,” he strains against the pull, his eyes closing at the mere thought. 

“I've seen it,” he mouths against Keith's lips, tasting sweet, wild cherries. “I've seen  _ you _ .” And seals his mouth over Keith's, drinking him in.

 “If you can see into my room, sweetheart, don’t you think I can see into yours?”


	31. Camp-Half Blood AU overflow

Lance stands under the spray of the shower in the Big House. He doesn’t usually come in here, but his fight with Keith warranted both of them a trip to the infirmary. The water pressure is stronger here than in the communal showers and he just stands there as the water beats against the top of his head and against his shoulders. 

The heat opens his pores and he lets the day ooze from him and he watches the dirt and lingering blood swirl down the drain. 

His muscles ache and he knows that he’s going to really be feeling this for the next couple of days. Lance soaps down, rubbing in small circles on his scalp, feeling the grit there and he knows the exact moment this happened, when he did a tuck and roll to avoid the shining arc of Keith’s blade. He’d gotten to his feet and managed to brace his stance on bended knee as Keith swung again, and clashed metal to metal with Lance. 

He had pushed back, using all the muscles at his disposal, threw Keith off balance and skirted away, using the cover of a large cluster of rocks and trees so he could catch his breath. Lance sheathed his sword, looked at the trunk he had his back pressed against and saw a branch low enough for him to jump up and grab. 

Lance rubs the heel of his palm under the spray of water, glad that he had his archer’s gloves on or his hand would have been splintered to shit as he used the momentum of swinging himself up to vault to the next branch. 

Keith had come thundering into the foliage, his sword ready and his back an open target for Lance. He saw Keith’s head jerk side to side, assessing, and Lance lined up his shot, ready to fire and catch the extra fabric at the hem of his shirt against the tree opposite. But Keith turned then, looking up, smart enough to know that if he didn’t immediate see Lance on the ground he should check the trees- 

Lance let his arrow loose, the long silver shaft of his arrow whistling through the air, Keith too slow, and it caught at the loose corner of his tee and pinned him to the wide trunk. 

Keith swore and sunk the tip of his sword into the dirt at his feet, ducked and soon Lance was blinding by the white cream of Keith’s skin and oh- well, damnit, this bastard is playing a dirty distraction game and oh- shit! Lance leapt to another branch as Keith pulled a small dagger from his belt, threw it at Lance. It grazed his arm, pinned his sleeve to the tree he was in and Lance hissed. 

“Jesus- dude-” 

“Sorry,” Keith shouted, but didn’t look all that sorry, a little worried, but not  _ sorry _ . Lance tugged at the blade but it was buried too deep and Keith was coming, his eyes bright and calculating and he was going to jump the tree just like Lance had. 

Lance had a flash of panic and he dipped out of his shirt, lost his balance and fell the short way down the tree onto the ground. His arm and hip took the shock of it and thank god it was only a six foot drop or his shoulder would have dislocated and demi-god or not that shit would have been bad.

Lance rubs at his shoulder now, his bicep tender, trails that touch down his hip and winces in pain. Yeah, definitely be feeling this for the next week at least.

He turns off the shower and reaches out of the curtain to snag the towel left on top of the closed toilet seat. He dries himself, and steps over the lip of the tub, flexing his toes on the soft mat under his feet. He rubs at his hair and secures the towel around his waist. 

He pulls the door to the bathroom open and his skin jumps as he sees Keith sitting in the wing-backed chair that’s in the room. “Dude!” And Lance grips the place where his towel meets to make sure it’s secure. “What the hell?”

Keith doesn’t say anything, just sits there, watching him. He tilts his head, looking at Lance from under his lashes and Lance feels his skin heat at that stare, the wave of it rising up his neck and into his face. He watches as Keith’s eyes follow a bead of water down his throat and over his chest to get absorbed by the towel and then his eyes slowly travel back upward. 

“I’m here for you,” is all Keith says. There’s challenge in his eyes.

“For what?” He asks, still standing at the threshold of the bathroom, dripping a little, skin pebbling in the cool air. 

Keith tilts his head, the dark curl of his bangs falling over his forehead and all Lance wants to do is push it back with his fing- no, no he wants to cut off, yes, viciously, that stupid mullet, twitching fingers be damned.

“I don’t need you,” he says as he moves to the foot of the bed his clothes sit atop. “So just go,” he says, skin heating all over, pooling in his gut and fuck why does Keith always catch him off guard-

Like how he did before, Keith towering over him with the sun's light behind him, his own ancestor mocking him, peeking through the canopy and halos around the dark nebula of Keith’s hair. He’d felt like a trapped mouse, cornered and tense, with his heart pounding wildly in his chest but you know what they say about cornered animals- 

He’d seen an opening, when Keith thought he had won, his balance had been too far forward and Lance had kicked his leg out, swiping at the tender spot behind his knee and Keith went down like a bag of dropped potatoes.

“Is that an order?” Keith asks him, voice low and coy, bringing Lance right back here, and he glances up, irritation rising as this asshole tilts his head, rests it on a curled fist like its too much work to hold it up and just. Openly looks a Lance with heavy lidded eyes.

“No,” he bites out. “No, just, close your eyes,” he says and Keith immediately obeys and the rush of power that it gives him courses through his veins like wildfire. He watches Keith as he dresses to make sure he doesn't belay Lance’s… he won’t order him about. He won’t let this go to his head. “Why are you here?” He asks, sitting on the bed. His hip flares in protest and he leans on his arm to one side to ease the pressure. 

“I’m here to be at your disposal,” Keith says, eyes still shut. 

Lance worries his lip, looks at the small jar in Keith’s hand. “What is that?” He asks, but he already knows. “Will you put that on me?” He asks quietly and in spite of Keith’s ear shattering music that he plays at ungodly hours of the evening, Keith can hear him just fine. 

“Is that an order?” He asks again. 

And Lance wants to die. All he wanted was a decent night’s sleep and now he’s stuck with this- “Yes, fuck, yes, okay? Come here and put that on me,” he says, and, feeling like an embarrassed idiot, “Please,” he tacks on. 

Keith smirks, rises to his feet and shuffles towards Lance with his eyes still shut. “You can open your eyes,” he blurts out suddenly, and Keith blinks his eyes open, his irises instantly zeroing in on Lance. He comes to stand in front of him at the ready and why why why did he ever agree to this-

“Where does it hurt?” Keith asks him, and Lance looks up at him. He sounds concerned and really- 

“My shoulder,” he says, the thing most in pain calling out for immediate attention. Keith nods and crawls onto the bed behind Lance. Keith waits and really-

Lance huffs and gingerly takes the hem between his curled fingers, pulls one side over his head leaving half of his body exposed. Keith chuckles, slides it the rest of the way off and Lance bites hard on the bottom of his lip to keep from making a sound. 

Keith’s fingers are five hot points against his skin and Lance hisses. “It has to hurt a little first before it feels good,” and, god, really-

Lance grits his teeth through the ache, the smell of menthol assaulting his nose and mouth and as soon as it had started hurting, the ache eases and Lance’s shoulder goes lax like a string had been cut. 

Keith’s thighs are pressed against his back, his body warm and solid and Lance leans into him, drunk and pliant as Keith works the tense tendon in his shoulder, fingers walking over the ball of his arm and rubbing his thumbs hard into his bicep. “You fell on this side, right?” Keith asks, voice rough and really-

Lance nods, his breathing heavy and he’s being maneuvered to lie on his side and Keith is looming over him, just like before, out amongst the trees, the overhead bulb throwing his dark nebula hair into stark contrast, and Keith is ducking his head, something hot flashing in his eyes and he presses his mouth swiftly to Lance’s. 

“Don’t move, just,” and Keith streaks his mouth down, kissing Lance’s neck, the curve of his shoulder, gently, softly as if in apology, and then he’s moving lower still, his hands hot points against his back and skin and Lance, he… really- he needs this to, really-

Keith's fingers trail along the elastic waistband of his loose joggers, slips under with a slight scratch of is nails and he exposes the sharp jut of his hip bone, the skin red and the muscle underneath swollen. Keith presses his mouth there, his lashes fluttering closed against him as he closes his eyes. Lance turns to lie on his back, his body a half in a twist and looks down at the crown of Keith’s head as he stays there, hunched over Lance’s side. 

It’s a little worrisome at seeing Keith so docile. Lance, still dopey from the short massage on his arm, runs his fingers through Keith’s hair and Zeus- it’s soft, cool and thick and heavy and Lance lets out a small surprised sound from his mouth. Keith looks up for that, the movement of his head forces Lance’s hand to slide across his cheek, but he doesn’t move it away. 

He rubs his thumb against the crest of Keith’s cheek and Keith leans into his touch like a cat seeking affection.

“Finish it,” Lance murmurs, tucking Keith’s hair behind his ear. 

Keith’s eyes color dark, the pupil expanding as two roses bloom on his cheeks and yes, anything, anything.

Keith ducks his head again, pressing his mouth to Lance’s skin one last time before sitting back up. His fingers dip into the little pot and start spreading the salve against his hip. 

It burns, aches, deep seated and almost teetering over into painful but then the magic in Keith’s fingers seep into him, works down to the bone and Lance feels himself practically melt into the mattress. He lets out a sigh, closing his eyes.    
  


He can acutely feel how Keith’s palms curl around his hip, one under the other, sliding up his side only to stop and start again from the thigh. His fingers follow the dips of Lance’s body; the dip in his lower back, the hollow of his pelvis, touching and squeezing and molding to him. 

He must doze because the next thing he knows is Keith sliding the elastic of his pants over his hip gingerly, getting up. He makes to move off the bed, and Lance opens his eyes, watches muzzily as Keith tidies things away. 

It must the the lateness of the hour or how he feels like he’s floating on a cloud, or it could be because he’s slowly beginning to realize that Keith has always looked at him that way, with quiet want and intense focus.

It gives him the bravado he needs to open his mouth. “Will you stay with me?” he asks softly, gently, coaxing headstrong, brash and hotheaded Keith to lie in bed with him. Not ordering him. Not for this when it really matters. Needs Keith to know this.

Keith tilts his head, hears the request for what it is and comes to him, sliding onto the mattress. His fingers come out to touch at Lance’s hip but there’s no pain. He grabs Keith’s hand, yanks at his arm and pulls him flush to his back. He curls his body over, pulling Keith along with him and that’s how Lance falls asleep, with Keith protecting his back, Keith’s heartbeat thundering in his chest. 


	32. Internet Friends/Disney/College AU overflow

Keith is dying. There's no other word for it. He's never been dead before, but he thinks that this is how the process goes. He drops onto the soft couch Shiro gifted him as a congratulations on getting into university. He closes his eyes for just a moment, taking a deep breath. The window is open and the heavy heat of the spring to summer air filters in and Keith can smell their apple tree's flowers from the back yard. 

He thinks about how the sakura trees would be starting to just bloom back home.

He opens his eyes, backtracking over the thought. He doesn’t have a home there, not anymore at least. 

Keith starts when the door slams open, the knob hitting the wall and thank Shiro’s foresight on putting a small rubber bit there because there would have gone that deposit. Lance comes barreling in with a multitude of shopping bags and a high pitched voice.

“A little help?” he huffs as he waddles across the living room space to the small adjoining kitchen. 

“Where was my help when I lugged all the boxes up the stairs?”

“I was out getting us food,” he says, letting the bags slide down his arms onto the laminate and thanks Shiro’s foresight again of mopping the whole place with floor cleaner. 

The immediate living space smells like chemicals and lemons, a weird combination, and it reminds Keith of the last days he spent cleaning out their little 2DK apartment in Japan and it makes him a little sad but Lance sits down next to him, jostling the couch and that thought goes straight out the window. 

Lance isn’t far from him, but there’s still some space, still giving Keith the opportunity to come to him if he wants. Keith is grateful for that. He’s still new to being in a physical relationship with Lance. 

After their rather intense first kiss, Keith still had to fly back to Japan, pack up his life and make the move. They still talked, texted and had their usual late night/lunchtime Skype calls; there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that he hasn’t had Lance’s voice in his ear. 

But now, Lance flirts with him openly, kindly, lets Keith’s heart get acclimated to it. Laughs as he blushes and tells him how cute he is while Keith scowls through his embarrassment. 

But Keith wants it all the same, enjoys the attention and the affection reflected back at him. Floats in it. 

Keith breathes slowly, letting the thought take shape, looks at the space between them and decides,  _ fuck it _ and before he can stop himself, he slouches down the cushions and rests his head against Lance’s shoulder. 

Lance doesn’t skip a beat, his attention still on his phone, nattering away about all the coffee shops in the area or about the movie theater, but he lifts his arm, tucks it behind Keith’s neck, gently forces him into the warm pocket of his side and brings his arm back around to adjust his phone so it sits more securely in one hand.

Keith stiffens, not expecting all this but with one, swift, surprised inhale he catches a whiff of Lance- his deodorant, the smell of his soap, something bright and citrus-y and if makes his whole body ease. He tucks his arm under him, presses it to his side to help prop him up, so that it isn’t getting crushed weirdly by his body, or, heaven forbid,  _ strays _ .

He curls his fist under his chin and peers at Lance’s phone with him. Lance’s hand comes up from holding his phone and his fingers start playing with the hair at the top of Keith’s head, twirling a section of it around and around his finger, letting it go and Keith had feel the weird curly shape it’s in, and then Lance’s fingers run through, carding them free, only to start up again. 

“You like Thai food?” Keith asks, surprised, at seeing the list of restaurants that Lance has pulled up on his phone. When Lance doesn’t answer, he looks up, twisting his neck as far as it can go and comes face to face with the light pink of Lance’s cheeks. 

“It’s alright,” Lance mumbles, shrugs, looks away like he's guilty at being caught. “But you like it,” he says. “Just, yanno, scoping it out, for maybe, yanno, a date or something,” he mumbles, voice trailing off.

_ And, god, give me the strength- _

Keith lifts his hand and angles Lance’s face towards his own, pulling him down and pressing his mouth to Lance’s. Lance makes a startled noise in the back of his throat, his neck stiff in Keith’s palm, his side a rigid line, but then he softens as his air comes out through his nose. 

Lance shifts his arm to curl around Keith’s back to bring him closer, his phone falling away has his other hand comes up to touch at Keith’s waist and if Keith were anything, he’s impulsive. 

Greedy.

Smitten.

He lurches into Lance’s hold, pressing flush to his side, pressing harder into him and Lance gets it, oh does he get it, because he’s squeezing at Keith, hoisting him into his lap and Keith is only so strong in the face of Lance’s sudden keen interest of inspecting his mouth with his tongue. 

He sighs, melts into it, into Lance, the smell of cleaner and citrus and the apple tree blossoming outside swirling into his senses and Keith doesn't think that he’ll ever think about one without thinking about this. 

Lance pulls back, sucking in air, presses his lips to the corner of Keith’s mouth. “Geeze, what was that for?”

“You’re the one that decided to get handsy,” Keith tries to breathe out evenly and is close to failing but manages somehow. 

Lance hums, sliding his hands down Keith’s waist, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s body, tucking his palms under each other at the small of Keith’s back. 

“Lunch,” Lance says finally, breath moist against the dip in Keith’s throat, “Then, groceries away?” and, like he can’t help himself, presses his mouth there, too, his lips warm and quick, and Keith’s skin raises up in little bumps at the heat, sensitive to the hot air that turns humid as Lance breathes against him. 

Keith tilts his chin up and Lance attends to the motion of his throat bobbing as he swallows, nose leading the way as his teeth follow close behind. 

“Yes,” and Keith’s voice strains at being pulled tight from his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s agreeing to, not really (but, really, he does).

Lance pulls away and holds Keith at arms length and Keith chuckles, clambering off of Lance. He makes his way to the kitchen and starts rummaging through the bags. “Will you get the plates out? Should be in one of those boxes over there,” Keith says and pulls out the bread and deli meat Lance found. Mustard, cheese, and mayonnaise in a jar, and who ever thought this was a good idea was an idiot, all come out as well.

Keith hears the flip of the cardboard boxes being opened as Lance sorts through stuff. 

He looks up after a few minutes to check and see what’s taking Lance so long. 

The best thing about this apartment is that it’s small- not too much to clean, enough space for him and a guest. And it’s small enough that it puts him in direct line of sight of Lance looking at his D&D notes and he sees the small doodles and full busts of Pike and Thunderstorm Darkness and he drops the butter knife with a clatter.

“Put that away! That’s not for you,” he says, coming around the short counter and stalking up to Lance. Lance for his part, stands and holds the papers out of his reach.

“Yes it is! It has my face on it,” he says gleefully. “You didn’t say you drew me!” 

And oh, the horror. Some of his sketches are of actual Lance from the few times that they’ve Skyped and Keith was at home while Lance was on his lunch break. Keith stops trying to get the papers back, Lance’s arms too long for his own damn good and stands there, pouting instead. 

Lance grins manically. Wraps his arms around Keith and lifts him off the floor a few inches, spinning him around. “These are really good,” he says sincerely after setting Keith down, shuffling through some of the papers in his hands. Lance smiles softly, setting the book down. Leans over and presses a kiss to Keith’s cheek. “Thank you,” he says.

Keith looks at him quizzically. 

“That you cared enough to draw me,” he tells him, making his way towards the kitchen. It’s doesn’t take him any time at all with his long legs. “You don’t like mustard right?” Lance asks, squirting some liberally onto his own sandwich.

Keith looks at Lance, a strange warm feeling welling up inside of him. Not even Shiro is attentive enough to leave that out when he makes them lunch sometimes. 

It’s a comfort, elating really, to have someone know you so intimately that even the most mundane consideration makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He looks at Lance, standing in his small kitchen, in his small apartment, his face backlit by the open window as he assembles their sandwiches. The smell of cleaning chemicals and lemons, a weird combination, and the blossoming apple tree from outside drift over his senses. 

He walks up to Lance, presses his nose to the side of his neck under his ear, inhales and takes in Lance’s deodorant and smell of his soap, something citrus-y and bright-

And says, “No, I don’t, but I like you,” and presses his mouth there to seal the deal. 


End file.
